Steel Trap
by catherder
Summary: A Logan Cale, Man of Action story. Eyes Only investigates an organ smuggling scheme and uncovers a familiar villain.
1. Default Chapter

Title: THE STEEL TRAP  
  
Disclaimer: Dark Angel is owned by Charles Eglee, James Cameron, and Fox. I claim no rights to these characters, alas, although I like to play with them.  
  
Episode Reference: Takes place immediately after Some Assembly Required  
  
Rating: PG  
  
Summary: A Logan Cale, Man of Action fic, complete with Steelheads and major bad guys  
  
A/N: This is for Alaidh, who requested another LCMOA fic from me. Thanks to my betas, Alaidh and Kasman, for their insight.  
  
I live for reviews. You know what to do  
  
CHAPTER 1  
  
Prologue  
  
"Logan, are you sure you're OK?" Max asked, a concerned expression on her face. It was two days after Zack had attacked Logan with a machine gun in Logan's underground garage. "I really need to do this, but I've gotta be sure you're OK before I take off," she repeated. She was pacing back and forth in Logan's living room.  
  
"I'm fine. I've just got a bruise on my hip from the impact of Zack's shot, but other than that, I'm OK," Logan assured her. His hip didn't hurt, or if it did, he couldn't tell anyway. "But I ruined a pair of pants where Zack shot up the exoskeleton. Can't repair those bullet holes."  
  
"Well, no big loss there. They were seriously ugly pants." Max laughed. Then her face resumed its concerned expression. "I've got to leave for a few days. Just to reassure myself." She paused for a minute, then continued. "I know you promised me that Zack would be fine on the farm with Buddy and Mary, but I need to see for myself. I'll be back as soon as I can, but this is something I have to do. Zack will never know I'm there."  
  
Logan looked at Max. "It's OK. I understand. I really do. Zack is your brother."  
  
Her brother.  
  
Max smiled at Logan, then picked up her jacket and left. He sat there, on the couch, for a while, rubbing his hip, almost unconsciously.  
  
Chapter 1  
  
The next morning, Logan awoke and stiffly transferred from the bed to the wheelchair. He wouldn't have admitted to Max how much pain he really was in, or she wouldn't have left to see to Zack. He knew the bruise was severe, just from the color of it, but he hadn't realized how such an injury could cause the pain to radiate from his hip to other parts of his body where he still had feeling. Even his head hurt. He hoped a long, hot shower would help in that department.  
  
He wheeled himself into the bathroom and turned on the shower. A few minutes later, he was sitting under the hot, steamy spray, letting the warmth loosen his tight muscles. He thought about a workout, but decided to skip a day to give his hip time to heal.  
  
Idly, he cast his mind back to the events of a few days ago, when Zack, programmed to eliminate Eyes Only, had chased him into the underground parking garage with a machine gun, and let loose. After riddling the Aztek with bullets, Zack had finally gotten in a good shot and nailed him. If not for the exoskeleton, Logan thought, he would have been seriously injured - or perhaps worse. He'd only been knocked off his feet. Luckily, Max had shown up just in time and had taken care of Zack.  
  
Now, Logan mentally kicked himself for not being able to move quickly enough in the exoskeleton to retrieve Zack's weapon from where he had dropped it in his fight with Max. Maybe it was the shock of being shot and taken down again; maybe he was out of shape; maybe the exoskeleton was too much of a dead weight for him to drag. He didn't know. All he did know was that if not for Max, he would have been a dead man. He hadn't felt that helpless in a long time and he didn't like it one bit.  
  
Maybe he'd been relying on the exoskeleton too much. He wore the contraption every day, even when he didn't need to, like around the penthouse. He had promised himself when he had first received the DOD surplus device and gotten it working again, that it was for "special" occasions only, not everyday use. But he had been so thrilled at being able to stand up and walk again that he had begun to take the exoskeleton for granted. Now the damn thing was broken, and he didn't know if it could be repaired.  
  
Disgusted with himself, Logan turned off the water and got out of the shower, promising himself that he'd clean up his act. He looked in the mirror and didn't like what looked back at him. His eyes were bloodshot, his hair shaggy and limp. He looked sick and tired. Maybe the events of the last few days had taken more out of him than he realized. He quickly shaved and brushed his teeth, determined to turn over a new leaf. He threw on a terry cloth robe and wheeled himself into the kitchen.  
  
After breakfast, he made an appointment with his barber for a haircut. That was a start. Then he turned his attention to the shot-up exoskeleton. It wasn't in bad shape, considering, but it did need repairs that were beyond his skills. He decided to contact Sebastian to find out if any of his people could fix it.  
  
Sebastian didn't know, but suggested that Logan drop it off and he would see what he could do. It seemed that Logan was going to be running a lot of errands, so he decided he'd log off and get started. His glasses slid down his nose again and annoyed, he pushed them back up.  
  
"Where is my other pair?" he muttered to himself, rifling through the desk drawer. He came up empty, so he wheeled himself into the bedroom and opened the nightstand drawer. There they were, his favorite pair of wire-rimmed glasses. He took them out of the drawer to put them on, then remembered why he had relegated them to the nightstand in the first place. He'd cracked a lens when he dropped them during one of his forays up on the Space Needle. "Damn! Well, there's another errand to run."  
  
Logan hastily dressed in jeans and a sweater. He'd thought about wearing the exoskeleton over to Sebastian's, but decided against it since the legs would no longer bend due to the damaged mechanism. He put the broken glasses in his pocket, wrestled the exoskeleton onto his lap, and carefully made his way out the door. The bulky contraption made it difficult for him to maneuver the wheelchair.  
  
Somehow, he got to the car, then realized that he didn't know if the Aztek was still drivable. After all, Zack had riddled it with bullets. Logan examined the SUV; apparently just the body had been damaged. The doors had bullet holes across them and the rear driver's side window had been shot out. Other than that, it seemed to be OK. Luckily, the weather wasn't very cold for November, since in the wheelchair, Logan couldn't quite reach the top of the rear window to tape some plastic over it. He unlocked the hatch and stowed the exoskeleton. Then he clambered into the car and took off.  
  
*****  
  
A short drive took him to the medical facility where Sebastian lived. This time, he found an orderly to help him with the exoskeleton; between them, they managed to get it into Sebastian's quarters. Logan held it up and turned it so Sebastian could get a good look at the contraption.  
  
"It doesn't look too bad, Logan," the synthesized voice said. "The chip hasn't been damaged."  
  
"That's good," Logan replied. "So, you think your guys can repair it?"  
  
"Yes, but it will take a while."  
  
"A while? How long is a while?"  
  
"I don't know," Sebastian tapped out on his head set. "A week at least. Maybe longer. Depends on whether my guys can get the parts."  
  
Logan sighed. "OK. At least I don't have to get Max to steal another chip. Just let me know when it's done or if you need anything."  
  
"Will do. Are you going to tell me what happened?"  
  
"Ah, Zack tried to kill me. Hit the exoskeleton instead. You should see the car."  
  
"Should I ask why Zack was trying to kill you? I thought he was - an ally, if not a friend," the synthesized voice asked.  
  
"He was reprogrammed at Manticore to kill me, since the virus didn't get me."  
  
"They must think you're a cat, you have so many lives."  
  
"Yeah, beginning to run out, though," Logan admitted. "Thanks for your help."  
  
"No problem. I'm always glad to help."  
  
"Well, I gotta run a bunch of errands, so I'll catch ya later."  
  
"Later," Sebastian said.  
  
*****  
  
Logan drove back toward town to run his other errands. He dropped his old glasses off at the optician's, figuring that he would pick them back up when he was finished with the haircut. He found a parking space almost in front of the barber's, next to the cut in the sidewalk. How lucky, he thought sarcastically as he dragged the chair out of the back seat and assembled it. He transferred into it and headed up the curb cut. One short step presented the only obstacle between Logan and the barbershop. He popped a wheelie to get up the step, thankful that he hadn't forgotten his wheeling skills.  
  
"Hey, Logan," the barber said, looking up from his customer. "Whoa! You look like hell."  
  
"Yeah, tell me about it." Logan wheeled himself over to the wall to wait until his barber was done. He locked the brakes and picked up an old magazine from the stack on a table next to the wall.  
  
He'd finished reading a couple of articles when the barber called his name. "So, what'll it be, Logan?"  
  
"The usual, Stan. I'm long overdue."  
  
"Sure."  
  
Half an hour later, looking very different, Logan left the barbershop. He went back to the optician's to pick up his glasses. Then, his errands for the day finished, he retreated to his apartment.  
  
*****  
  
Before Zack had so rudely interrupted his life, Logan had been trying to track down a bunch of Steelheads, whom an informant reported were selling stolen organs to China, making huge profits. He had asked Zack about them, since he had lived with them for a while, but that had triggered Zack's murderous program.  
  
While the Steelheads were into monstrous metallic implants, they were surprisingly low-tech. Logan could find no reference to them at all on his informant net. Then he remembered something Max had mentioned, something about a run-in between Sketchy and some Steelheads. Obviously, the next order of business was to talk to Sketchy. That meant Jam Pony. Logan shut down the computer and headed off to the messenger service to find him.  
  
Although located in the next sector, Jam Pony was only four blocks from Logan's apartment. He decided it was too close to drive, and the exercise would do him good. So he took the elevator to the lobby and left the building.  
  
It was a beautiful day, sunny, with a slight breeze. Logan enjoyed the weather and tried not to think about Max, the virus, and Zack's attack on him. His shoulders were getting tired from the wheeling, but he continued without stopping until he got to the shabby warehouse where Jam Pony was housed.  
  
He rolled down the ramp, as he had several times before, onto the main floor of Jam Pony. Normal leaned over the counter and looked down at Logan.  
  
"Can I help you?" he asked, as impersonally as ever. That had always annoyed Logan  
  
"Hey, Normal. How long have we known each other?" Logan looked up at the owner and proprietor.  
  
"A year and a half or so, I guess. Why?"  
  
"You still never say 'Good morning' or 'Hello' or even 'Hey!' to me. How come?"  
  
"Mother of God!" Normal exclaimed. "Well, with you it's always business, isn't it, Logan? Never a social call - except for that time you picked Max up for that wedding. Speaking of which, where is Max today?"  
  
"You remember - Sam, the messenger who worked for you briefly last year?" Logan asked.  
  
"That major disappointment? The one who disappeared on me after one day? Sure, I remember him."  
  
"Did Max ever tell you that he was her long-lost brother?"  
  
"She may have mentioned it to me. So what?"  
  
"He was, ah, taken ill suddenly - out of town. Max went there to be with him. She'll be back in a few days. It was an emergency - just happened last night."  
  
"Yeah, well, if I had a buck for every lame excuse Max has made, I could retire. So, if you're not looking for Max, why are you here?"  
  
"Looking for Sketchy this time."  
  
"That stoner reprobate?" Normal snorted. "I think he's back in the locker area. Over there." He indicated with his thumb.  
  
"Thanks." Logan spun around and headed toward the lockers, nearly running over Sky. He turned into the locker area indicated by Normal and found Sketchy leaning against his locker.  
  
"Hey, Logan, wassup, man?" Sketchy looked like he was ripped, but then he always looked like that.  
  
"Hey, Sketchy. Normal said you were back here."  
  
"Yeah? Well, I ain't seen Max for a few days."  
  
"I know. I'm not looking for Max. I'm looking for you."  
  
"Me? What for?" Sketchy looked around suspiciously, as if he had been caught doing something he shouldn't have been doing.  
  
"I hear you had a run-in with the Steelheads. I'm looking for them. For Eyes Only."  
  
Sketchy's eyes widened. "Hey, man, I don't want any more trouble with them. I was delivering a package for Alec. They didn't like him horning in on their territory. So they beat me up. If you want information on the Steelheads, talk to Alec."  
  
"Is he around?" Logan asked, looking around, but not seeing Alec.  
  
"Nah. He's on a run. Should be back shortly, though. You wanna wait?  
  
"May as well. I'm not doing anything useful right now."  
  
"Can I get yah a cup of coffee - or the swill that passes for coffee around here?" Sketchy offered.  
  
"Thanks, Sketchy." Logan rolled over next to the bench in the locker area and locked his brakes.  
  
Sketchy disappeared for a few minutes, then reappeared with a couple of paper cups of coffee. He sat down on the bench, next to Logan.  
  
"What's up with the Steelheads?" he asked.  
  
"They're bad guys doing bad things. Eyes Only is investigating them. What was in the package you were delivering that made them work you over?" Logan sipped the coffee and decided that Sketchy was right - it was swill.  
  
"Uh, 'andy' - " Sketchy admitted.  
  
"Steroids? Alec was peddling steroids?" Logan laughed. "It figures."  
  
"Yeah, and he asked me to deliver the package 'cos he had to run another errand."  
  
"Well, at least it looks like no lasting damage was done."  
  
"Yeah, and Alec laid the smackdown on them later, so it all worked out."  
  
"Hmmm." Logan nodded.  
  
"So, where's Max?"  
  
"Um, she had a family emergency and had to be out of town for a few days. She'll be back soon. I spoke to Normal about it."  
  
"Cool. You're a lucky man, Logan. Max is such a hot chick," Sketchy stated enviously.  
  
"Yeah, I am." Logan sighed deeply. He assumed that Sketchy didn't know about the virus and that he and Max couldn't touch one another.  
  
They sat in silence for a while. Then Alec arrived, almost with a fanfare from Normal, who announced to him that his fan club awaited. Alec, a puzzled expression on his face, parked his bike and walked into the locker area. He stopped abruptly when he spotted Logan.  
  
He approached Logan and patted him on the shoulder. "Hey, buddy, what's up?"  
  
Logan twisted around to glare at him. Alec removed his hand.  
  
"Sketchy here tells me you know where the Steelheads hang out. I'm working on an investigation for Eyes Only."  
  
"Logan, ol' buddy, you don't want to mess with those guys," Alec advised. "British Eddie and his crew will slice and dice you."  
  
"I'm not planning to mess with them. I just need to know where they hang. I'll let other people mess with them," Logan promised.  
  
Sketchy, even in his usually foggy state, realized that what was about to take place was a private conversation, and that he should leave and let Logan and Alec get on with it. Much as he wanted to stick around and hear what Eyes Only, his personal hero, was up to, he knew that Alec would probably kick his ass if he hung around. Sketchy would have given a very important piece of his anatomy to be able to work for Eyes Only, like Logan did. Reluctantly, he got up from the bench, mumbled something vague about a delivery, and left the locker area, idly wondering if Logan had ended up in the wheelchair because of the work he did for Eyes Only.  
  
Once they were alone, Alec stressed again how dangerous the Steelheads were.  
  
'Hey, they even give me the creeps, and I've beaten up on them a time or two. You can't possibly hope to go up against them, especially - " Alec paused, as if he didn't know how to continue.  
  
"Especially.?" Logan repeated, cocking an eyebrow at him.  
  
Alec drew a deep breath. "Especially, ah, on wheels. What happened to the exo-thingy? I haven't seen you without it in a long time."  
  
"It's in the shop for repairs," Logan said sarcastically. "So I'll have to be on wheels for a while."  
  
"Well, if you need any help - a little ass-kicking, intimidation, that sort of thing, I'm your man."  
  
"Thanks. I'll keep your offer in mind," Logan replied. "Now, tell me, where do these guys hang out?"  
  
*****  
  
Armed with the information he had been seeking, Logan went back to his penthouse to plot his strategy. A plan was forming in his mind. Naturally, it was dangerous, especially with Max unavailable for backup. He wasn't sure he could really count on, or trust, Alec, so he figured that solo would be best. Wistfully, Logan hoped the exoskeleton could be repaired quickly, but he couldn't count on that either; he'd have to go it alone, and in the wheelchair. Well, it wouldn't be the first time.  
  
Mental visions of himself being thrown off the roof of the Steinlitz Hotel and being bitch-slapped by Gerhardt Bronck assailed him as he sat at the computer calling up data on black market organ sales. He wouldn't have Max around to save his sorry crippled ass this time, so his plan had better be good.  
  
Revitalized and excited, Logan worked late into the night, researching and planning. Not only was he going to take down a nasty bunch of people who preyed on the sick and dying, but he was going to take his mind off Zack's betrayal, the virus from hell, and Max's mood swings in reaction to it.  
  
When he finally fell into bed, he slept deeply, satisfied that he had a strategy to locate and take down the nasty little metal-implant loving gangsters who were robbing the dying of a chance for a new life. 


	2. Chapter 2

Title: THE STEEL TRAP  
  
Disclaimer: Dark Angel is owned by Charles Eglee, James Cameron, and Fox. I claim no rights to these characters, alas, although I like to play with them.  
  
Episode Reference: Takes place immediately after Some Assembly Required.  
  
Rating: PG  
  
Summary: A Logan Cale, Man of Action fic, complete with Steelheads and major bad guys.  
  
A/N: The plot begins to thicken and there may be a surprise. Thanks to my betas, Alaidh and Kasman, for their insight.  
  
I live for reviews. You know what to do.  
  
Chapter Two  
  
The next day, Logan, still fired up about his plan, decided to try a workout. To get his plan underway, he had to appear as buff as he could, and the best way to do that was to get pumped up with a workout. He surveyed his hip in the bathroom mirror; the bruise was large and ugly, but had stopped spreading. He hadn't consulted Sam Carr about the injury because he knew what Sam's reaction would be - lots of rest and no exercise for a period of time. And ice packs. He hated ice packs. Once the coldness spread to the still-feeling parts of his body, he would start shivering. It was very unpleasant.  
  
He transferred, still a bit stiffly, to the exercise table, and began a series of warm-up exercises. After determining that he wasn't hurting himself, Logan strapped himself down to the table and did serious crunches and sit-ups, working up a good sweat. For a cool-down, he sat up and did curls. Satisfied that he was pumped up sufficiently for his purposes, he grabbed a shower.  
  
Logan pulled on jeans and a tight black sweater, then completed the look he was going for with a pair of old sneakers. He pulled a roll of bills out of a desk drawer and peeled off a few, threw his jacket over his shoulders, loaded his gun and slipped it into his backpack, and headed out the door.  
  
It was a slow, horn-honking drive to the market where the Steelheads hung out. It wasn't one of the local markets where Logan bought his fresh produce, but a shabby place where a lot of secondhand goods changed hands, no questions asked. Alec had told him which stall the group seemed to call home, at the far corner of the market. He parked a short block from the market and wheeled the rest of the way.  
  
The place was gloomy and dingy-looking on a good day, and even more so in the thin November light. Logan wheeled himself from stall to stall, checking out each as if he were looking for something in particular. Within a few minutes, he noticed that he was being followed at a distance by a peculiar looking little man with blue hair and what looked to be a metal prosthetic arm. It seemed that one of the Steelheads had taken the bait. Logan continued to peruse each stall, conspicuously looking for something, shaking his head at each proprietor. The little guy with the blue hair got closer.  
  
Logan continued the game, getting most of the way through the market, and finally stopping at the stall Alec had indicated. Out of the corner of his eye, Logan saw that the little blue-haired man had been joined by a tall black companion with metal blades embedded in his arms. They continued to watch him with interest while he pretended to survey the wares spread out on tables in the stall.  
  
A woman's voice behind him said, "Are you looking for something?"  
  
Logan spun the chair around and saw a female Steelhead standing in front of him. She was certainly striking - no hair, but what looked like metal wires curling out of the top of her head, smudgy black eye makeup and lipstick, pale skin, black leather clothing and boots. She looked like a space alien to Logan, who preferred his women with hair and soft pink lips.  
  
"Well, yes, I am," he replied, staring up at her, try as he would not to.  
  
"Can I help you then?" At least she was polite.  
  
"Ah, I had heard that I could get some - andy - here." Logan flexed the muscles in his arms a little to emphasize his point.  
  
"And where did you hear that?" The girl surveyed him up and down. Her eyes came to rest admiringly on his biceps, then moved to his chest.  
  
"From an.acquaintance of mine. Bike messenger who your friends roughed up a bit a week or so ago."  
  
"Oh, that idiot," she commented. "I remember him." She tore her eyes away from Logan and looked over his head to the two men who had been following him. They came around behind Logan to join the girl. She turned to the taller man and said, "Our friend here is looking for some andy. Think you can accommodate him?"  
  
"I'll have to ask Eddie. I'll go get him." He headed away from the market, to a building a few yards away. Logan noted the door he went through for future reference. A minute or so later, he returned with yet another Steelhead, this time a white-haired man with odd blue eyes and a Union Jack on his vest.  
  
"I 'ear you're looking to purchase some andy, mate," the platinum haired one said in a lower class British accent.  
  
"Yeah, do I need to go through a committee?" Logan said, indicating the quartet standing in front of him.  
  
"Pre'y cheeky for a bloke in a wheelchair, aren't you?" the Brit said.  
  
"So I've been told," Logan replied. "You got any or am I wasting my time?"  
  
"What you want andy for?" the blue-haired one asked.  
  
"To help in my workout, what do you think?" Logan said. "I'm a body builder and Nature could use a little help."  
  
"You? A body builder? Don't make me larf!" The Brit Steelhead said.  
  
"Just because my legs don't work doesn't mean I can't bench press any one of you over my head," Logan warned, "and toss you over a stall."  
  
The female Steelhead smiled. "I'd like to see that." She looked admiringly at Logan again. "Eddie, I'll bet he could, too," she commented to the Brit with the white hair.  
  
Eddie sighed. "All right. How much do you want?" he asked.  
  
"How much can you get? It's not like I want to visit your little corner of the world again anytime soon. No offense, but it's just not welcoming, you know," Logan said with a smile.  
  
"A hundred pills'll cost you a thou', mate." British Eddie was all business.  
  
Logan reached into his pocket and pulled out the roll of money. He counted off the amount and handed it to Eddie. "Here."  
  
Eddie looked surprised to see cash in hand so quickly and easily. He gestured with his head to his blue-haired henchman. The little guy ran to the building Logan had spotted earlier. A few minutes later, he returned with a bottle of white pills, which he handed to Logan.  
  
Logan nodded a Thank You, then turned back to British Eddie.  
  
"There you go, mate. Just follow the instructions on the bottle."  
  
"All right. And how do I get in touch with you for a refill?"  
  
"We're - around. You can always find us in the market here," British Eddie replied.  
  
"Not even a cell phone number?" Logan asked disingenuously, leaning back in the wheelchair and smiling at Eddie. "As you can see, it might be ah, inconvenient for me to get to the market sometimes. Hard to maneuver this thing - " He patted the wheels - "if it's too crowded."  
  
British Eddie looked at his two henchmen, who shrugged. He rolled his eyes in frustration, then turned to his female companion. "Lux?"  
  
Lux glanced down at Logan and winked at him. "Why not?"  
  
Eddie rummaged in his pockets and found a slip of paper. He scribbled a telephone number on it and handed it to Logan. "'ere. Call when you need a refill. And tell that little poofter friend of yours to stay out of my territory."  
  
"Oh, I'm sure he won't bother you again," Logan stated. "Nice doing business with you." He spun the chair around and headed back through the market toward his car. Eddie and the other Steelheads stared after him; Lux was licking her lips.  
  
When Logan got back to his car, he breathed a deep sigh of relief. The Steelheads didn't seem particularly dangerous, but the girl, Lux, certainly creeped him out. He'd rarely been eye-stripped by women before, especially since he'd been shot (Max being the exception), so it was discomfiting to have it done to him by someone who looked like a metallic pineapple in a skirt.  
  
He got into the car and pulled out his cell phone. He speed-dialed a number.  
  
"Hello? Matt?"  
  
"Yeah, Logan. What's up?" Matt Sung answered.  
  
"I just bought a hundred hits of 'andy' off a bunch of Steelheads at a market in Sector 12. Thought you'd like to know."  
  
"Thanks. Do you want me to keep an eye on them?"  
  
"If you don't mind. I think they're into some other dirty dealings on a higher level, however - Eyes Only got a tip about organ smuggling."  
  
"Whoa!" Matt exclaimed. "Serious stuff."  
  
"I can't prove that yet. I want to try to get closer to them, if I can."  
  
"Be careful, Logan. These guys have a reputation.."  
  
"Yeah, I know. You're not the only one who's told me that. So far, the only one who looks really dangerous is a guy named Eddie. A Brit, from his accent. The other two seem pretty dim-witted. The girl, however - "  
  
"Girl?"  
  
"Female steelhead. Seems to fancy me." Logan laughed.  
  
"Oh, now that's something to brag about," Matt said, with a smile in his voice.  
  
"It's a start."  
  
"Well, I know you like to live dangerously, but even with that exoskeleton, you need to be careful."  
  
"The exoskeleton's in the shop for repairs," Logan stated.  
  
"Then, even more reason for you to be careful."  
  
"-I promise I'll watch out," Logan swore. "And I'll call you if I need help."  
  
"Good."  
  
"Gotta go, Matt. I'll talk to you later." Logan rang off.  
  
As he drove back home, he contemplated his next move. Now that he had connected with the Steelheads, what next? He shuddered at the thought of having to put the make on Lux to get to Eddie. Maybe now that he had some names and faces, he could delve into the 'net and see what he came up with.  
  
The bank of computers was fired up. Logan, cup of coffee in hand, was intently staring at the screen. He'd hacked into the files of the Seattle police department, searching for any mention of Eddie and his friends. He was getting frustrated and thinking about calling it a day, when the phone rang. It was Max.  
  
"Hey," she said by way of greeting.  
  
"Hey," he replied. "Whatcha up to?"  
  
"You know, just hanging out. You? "  
  
"Spending a hot night on the computer, what else? Protecting the downtrodden." Logan laughed.  
  
"Yeah," Max said wistfully. "Don't get into too much trouble."  
  
"How much trouble can I get into?" Logan asked. "I'm here by myself. The exoskeleton is with Sebastian, hopefully being repaired, so I'm back on wheels."  
  
"Well, ya never let that stop you before, did ya?" Max asked.  
  
"How's Zack?" Logan asked, quickly changing the subject. Max knew him all too well.  
  
"Seems to be settling in all right. I'm keeping a low profile, so he doesn't know I'm here. It's breaking my heart."  
  
"I'll bet," Logan replied sympathetically.  
  
"Working on anything interesting?"  
  
"Nah, just the same old same old. You know, police corruption, crooked politicians."  
  
"Well gotta go. Just thought I'd check in and say hi," Max said. "I'll be back in a few days."  
  
"No hurry. I squared it with Normal. And thanks for calling, Max."  
  
"Yeah," Max said and hung up. Logan looked at the phone, then smiled sadly.  
  
He decided to do one more search through the police department records. He had exhausted "Identifying Marks," "M.O.s," "Names," and various physical descriptions. No Eddie. So, on a wild hunch, he typed "L-U-X" in the "Alias" field and hit ENTER. Then he went into the kitchen for another cup of coffee.  
  
The screen began rolling as the search ran. A few minutes later, a file popped up and the computer beeped. Startled, Logan wheeled quickly back to the desk to see what had turned up. He almost spilled the coffee in his lap in his hurry to get to the computer.  
  
"Bingo!" he said aloud to himself. "Eddie's not in the system, but Lux is."  
  
Eagerly, he pulled up the file and began to read it. His heart nearly stopped and he realized what he had stumbled on.  
  
"Name: Lucy Lempkin, AKA Lux."  
  
"Lempkin! Oh my God!" Logan exclaimed aloud. "I wonder if she's related to Pierpont Lempkin!" 


	3. Chapter 3

Title: THE STEEL TRAP  
  
Disclaimer: Dark Angel is owned by Charles Eglee, James Cameron, and Fox. I claim no rights to these characters, alas, although I like to play with them.  
  
Episode Reference: Takes place immediately after Some Assembly Required.  
  
Rating: PG  
  
Summary: A Logan Cale, Man of Action fic, complete with Steelheads and major bad guys.  
  
A/N: Logan's plan starts to hatch and others get involved. Thanks to my betas, Alaidh and Kasman, for their insight.  
  
I live for reviews. You know what to do.  
  
Chapter Three  
  
Eagerly, Logan scanned Lux's police file. There were a couple of misdemeanors, of a drug nature, on her rap sheet. But at least, he did turn up one significant piece of information. Under "Known Accomplices," there was an entry: Edwin (Eddie) Jones, AKA British Eddie. Further investigation turned up no arrests in Washington State for Eddie, but the London bill had obviously had a field day with him. He must have been one of their favorite felons, being in and out of the slammer about once a week, as well as a couple of longer stints in Brixton.  
  
Logan blessed his military intelligence training that allowed him to hack into the highly secure British files. They contained a lot of information on Lucy Lempkin and Eddie Jones, and it was a fascinating story. It seemed that Lucy, Pierpont Lempkin's kid sister, had been sent to an old-fashioned "finishing school" in England, in the hopes that the discipline would tame some of her wildness. Obviously, it hadn't.  
  
Apparently she had gotten involved with a bunch of neo-Goths, who dealt drugs to support their decadent lifestyle. Her first arrest had been at age 16, for a "cosh and carry." Logan stared at the mug shot: Lucy/Lux had been rather pretty in a pale, hollow-eyed kind of way. She had short blonde hair with purple streaks, too much purple eye makeup and purple lipstick. She'd been let off with a warning, probably due to her family's influence.  
  
Somehow, she'd managed to graduate, then get in a few semesters at the London School of Economics, also probably due to her father's influence. So, she wasn't stupid, Logan thought, or too drugged out to pass some courses. She seemed to have met and taken up with Eddie when she was 19.  
  
According to Eddie's rap sheet, he'd been in and out of trouble since adolescence. He had a long list of petty crimes that indicated an aptitude for extortion and drug dealing. He was also a member of the neo-Goth scene, so it seemed inevitable that they should meet up. Three years ago, according to the records, their paths seemed to have converged in London: Logan noted the parallel arrests started at that time. Two years ago, they left England.  
  
Logan took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. It was like reading a novel, he thought, kind of a Goth picaresque tale. He wondered why they had left England, but speculated that it had gotten too hot for them there. And knowing how corrupt the Seattle police department could be, and how amenable to bribes the Sector cops were, he could see where this would be a comfortable place for them to set up shop.  
  
Logan closed the British files and pursued the rest of the story locally. It seemed that Lux and Eddie had tried to stay under the police radar - just barely. They'd brought the Steelhead fad with them from England, having gotten bored with the relatively tame Goth scene. They had accumulated a small group of followers who supported their bizarre penchant for metal implants by drug dealing and protection rackets. Armed with this information, Logan began to formulate his plan. He had a connection to Pierpont Lempkin, and rumors of organ smuggling by Eddie and his gang, but he didn't know if the two were related, or if Eddie was freelancing. He needed more information, and unfortunately, he didn't know where that information was any more.  
  
The previous spring, he'd had Max steal diskettes from Lempkin's home - diskettes that contained details of Lempkin's criminal activities. She'd completed the mission, only to have the diskettes, along with a stash of cash, stolen by Original Cindy's squeeze, Diamond. Then, Diamond and Cindy, on their way to Mexico with the money (and presumably the diskettes) had been kidnapped by Sidney Croal. Croal was the head of Synthedyne Corporation, which had performed biological experiments on prison inmates, including Diamond. Diamond had died of her deliberately induced illness, but not before infecting and killing Croal himself. Max had rescued Cindy, but Max's fanny pack with the money and the crucial diskettes, had been lost in the shuffle. And Logan desperately needed those diskettes.  
  
With a deep sigh, Logan quit his research for the night. He thought he knew where to start the search for the missing diskettes, so he speed-dialed a number. Leaning back in the wheelchair, he waited for the caller to pick up.  
  
"Hey," Original Cindy's voice said.  
  
"Hey, it's Logan."  
  
"Max isn't here," Cindy said.  
  
"I know. She's away taking care of some family business. I called to talk to you. I'm trying to track down some computer diskettes Max, ah, acquired for me last spring."  
  
"Yeah, and what's that got to do with me? I don't keep track of her stuff."  
  
" I know. I hate to bring this up, Cindy, but these were in a bag that Diamond - took from Max. The bag also had a bunch of cash in it-."  
  
"So that's where she got all that money. Never would tell me how she got it."  
  
"It's a long story, but do you know what happened to that bag?"  
  
"Not offhand. Let's say I lost track of it when the black helicopter boys took me and Diamond away. I guess it got left on the bus," Original Cindy said. "Last I remember seeing it, Diamond had stashed it in the overhead compartment. Does that help?"  
  
"It sure does. Thanks," Logan said. "And Cindy, if I find that bag, you can have the money."  
  
"Don't matter to me, Logan. It's tainted as far as I'm concerned. You keep it, and use it for Eyes Only stuff."  
  
Logan frowned at that remark. Had Original Cindy figured out his alter ego, or was she just fishing? He knew that Max wouldn't have told her. On the other hand, Cindy was no fool and was as street-smart as they came.  
  
"Um, Eyes Only stuff?" He tried to sound confused.  
  
"Yeah. Logan, I got the 411 on that. I'd recognize those eyes anywhere. Max never busted you."  
  
"Never thought she would," Logan replied, a smile in his voice. "You've got a deal."  
  
"Hope you find what you're lookin' for, Logan. Too many bad guys out there."  
  
"I hope I do too. Thanks, Cindy. I'll talk to ya later."  
  
"Okay. And Logan, you take care of yourself. I don't want my girl any unhappier than she already is, with that Love Bug virus and all."  
  
"I promise I'll be careful. You've got my word on that."  
  
"'Night, Logan." Original Cindy hung up.  
  
"God, how many people have I promised I'll be careful to? I'll never get anything done if I'm that careful," Logan said to himself as he put the phone down.  
  
It was late, and he was tired. He decided to call it a day and pick up the investigation the next day. His priority would be to find that bus and find out if the bag with the diskettes was still on it, or if it had vanished again.  
  
The next morning, refreshed from a good night's sleep, Logan continued the search for the missing diskettes. The first order of business, after breakfast, was to track down the bus from which Diamond and Original Cindy had been taken. That should involve a straightforward search of Seattle bus records, Logan thought. He knew the date and destination, and that was probably enough to start the search. There had been only one bus to Mexico that day.  
  
He brought up the records of the Seattle bus company, entered the date and destination data, and let the program run. While it ran, he grabbed a cup of coffee and a couple pieces of toast. As he rolled back into the computer room, the information he sought flashed onto the screen. An incident report had been filed because the bus had been stopped and passengers removed. As Logan read the report, a small smile played at the corners of his mouth.  
  
Although the official-looking men with pharmaceutical company ID badges, who had stopped the bus and taken away two passengers in a helicopter, hadn't said why they did this, the rumor was that the passengers who had been removed were carrying a deadly disease and were contagious. The rest of the passengers had been transferred to another bus, which the Seattle bus company had sent to take the place of the possibly contaminated one. The original bus had been hauled away and put into isolated storage, just in case it really was contaminated. And there it stayed.  
  
Now, all Logan had to do was find the storage facility. There couldn't be many places where buses were stored, and it was probably off by itself somewhere, given the possible contamination. Another hack was in order.  
  
About fifteen minutes later, he found it - a warehouse in Sector 12, isolated from other facilities, near an old steam plant. Eager to check out the place, Logan skipped a morning workout and showered and dressed as quickly as he could. He slipped a digital camera and his gun into the pocket, and his laptop computer into the backpack on the wheelchair and left the penthouse.  
  
Between his various sector passes and some persuasion, the Sector police being in crackdown mode for a change, he made it into Sector 12 about an hour later. He found the warehouse, surrounded by a razor wire fence, at the end of a short road. There was only one security guard that he could see, but the guy was heavily armed - probably one of Synthedyne's minions, Logan assumed. Even in his most swashbuckling fantasies, he knew he couldn't break into the warehouse by himself without the exoskeleton. Silently, he cursed both Zack and his own paralysis. He knew he'd have to call in the reserves, in the form of Alec. He took some photos of the warehouse, the fence around it, and the guard for later reference, then headed home.  
  
Once back in his apartment, he phoned Alec. Judging from the background noise when Alec answered, Logan deduced that he was at Jam Pony. He could hear Normal yelling at the messengers, and Sketchy yelling back.  
  
"Yeah?" Alec said by way of greeting.  
  
"Hey, it's Logan. I need a favor."  
  
"Why don't I like the sound of that?" Alec asked.  
  
"It's no big deal for you. I'd do it myself if the exoskeleton weren't out of commission," Logan replied.  
  
"Okay, what do you need me to do?"  
  
"Why don't you come by my place when you get off work? I can explain it all to you then."  
  
"Okay. About six? That all right?"  
  
"Fine. See you then." Logan hung up.  
  
Unlike Max, Alec showed up promptly. He even rang the bell, rather than just walking in, as he usually did. Logan answered the door, backing the chair up so Alec could enter. "Right on time."  
  
"Yeah, well some of us still have some military discipline."  
  
"Right." Logan spun the chair around and headed toward the living room. Alec followed him, hands in his pockets, looking around as if he were casing the place.  
  
"Want a beer?" Logan asked, trying to overcome his natural animosity toward Alec and be a good host.  
  
"Sure." Alec plopped down on the sofa and sprawled there while Logan went to the kitchen to get a couple of beers. He returned in a few minutes later with two bottles of beer between his knees. He wheeled around the coffee table, locked his brakes, and handed Alec a beer.  
  
"So, Logan, what's this all about?" Alec said, taking a long gulp.  
  
"I'm trying to track down some computer diskettes Max stole for me last spring. They got stolen from her and ended up on a bus to Mexico. That's the last anyone saw them -"  
  
"You want me to go to Mexico and track them down?" Alec interrupted eagerly.  
  
"Nah, nothing as exotic as that, unfortunately. The bus was impounded and quarantined at a warehouse in Sector 12," Logan explained.  
  
"Quarantined? As in something contagious and nasty was on it?"  
  
"Original Cindy's girlfriend, Diamond, who had been infected with an experimental disease, was on it. She was taken away - back to the lab that had infected her in the first place. She died a short time later, but Original Cindy was fine and Max rescued her. Diamond had stolen the diskettes from Max - by accident. But apparently the backpack with the diskettes was left on the bus. I need you to break into the warehouse and find the backpack. I have the seat number and the pack was stashed in the overhead."  
  
"Okay, sounds pretty straightforward."  
  
"It is. Like I said, I'd do it myself but - " Logan rubbed his thighs. "I've got pictures of the place, the fence around it, and the guard. For you, it should be a piece of cake."  
  
"Yeah, and if it is contaminated, that won't bother me. Lucky for you I'm hanging around." Alec said playfully.  
  
"Well you were pretty handy when we went looking for Isaac," Logan admitted grudgingly.  
  
"Yeah, we made a good team, don't ya think?"  
  
"Don't press your luck, Alec," Logan warned. "I do remember you trying to kill me. And you would have if Asha hadn't happened along."  
  
"Yeah, well, that was my job. I was trying to put you out of your misery. Nothing personal." Alec was surprised to see Logan shiver when he said that. He looked puzzled.  
  
Seeing his expression, Logan explained. "The guy who put me in this chair said the same thing to me - 'Nothing personal.' Just a bit of ugly déjà vu there."  
  
"Sorry. Didn't know that. So, when do you want me to do this?"  
  
"As soon as possible. Information on those diskettes may be the link to whoever is behind the organ smuggling operation."  
  
"I thought Eddie and his buddies were." Alec leaned forward and stared at Logan  
  
"They may be the middle men. I stumbled on a piece of information that links them to one of the biggest bad guys in Seattle, one I've been trying to take down for a long time. So far, I haven't been able to touch him."  
  
"Wow!" Alec exclaimed. "Well, let's see what you've got on that warehouse."  
  
An hour later, they had a plan. Alec and Logan would meet at 6 a.m. and drive to the warehouse site. Alec would break in and do his thing, while Logan waited for him, keeping watch just in case. They would stay in touch through a pair of Logan's comm units. Logan didn't foresee any problems, but it didn't hurt to be extra careful. 


	4. Steel Trap, Chapter 4

**Title:  THE STEEL TRAP**

**Disclaimer: Dark Angel is owned by Charles Eglee, James Cameron, and Fox. I claim no rights to these characters, alas, although I like to play with them.**

**Episode Reference:  Takes place immediately after Some Assembly Required**

**Rating: PG**

**Summary:  A Logan Cale, Man of Action fic, complete with Steelheads and major bad guys**

**A/N: This is for Alaidh, who requested another LCMOA fic from me. Thanks to my betas, Alaidh and Kasman, for their insight.**

**I live for reviews. You know what to do.**

**Chapter Four**

As planned, Alec knocked on Logan's door at 6 a.m. the next morning. He wore a dark, hooded sweatshirt, black pants, and heavy boots, and had a small pack strapped to his belt. Logan opened the door and invited him in.

"Coffee?" he asked, wheeling into the kitchen and pouring a thermos bottle full. He too was clad in dark clothing. 

"No thanks, not while I'm on a job," Alec said. He watched as Logan filled a backpack with his laptop, the digital camera, a pair of binoculars, and the thermos. Then Logan opened the desk drawer and pulled out his gun and a box of shells. He loaded the clip, made sure the safety was on, and pocketed the weapon, then put away the rest of the shells.

"Ready to go?" he said, rolling toward the front door.

"Uh, yeah," Alec said, following him. "You always carry a gun?"

"No, just when I'm going to do something dangerous. Don't you?"

"Sometimes. Didn't bring one this morning. Figured I'd rely on stealth and superior reflexes. I'll let you handle the heavy action." Alec laughed.

"Fine."

They rode the elevator down to the garage and got into the Aztek. Logan turned on the radio and tuned to a classic rock station. Once on the road, Alec dozed. 

The sky was just beginning to lighten when Logan pulled up on the hill overlooking the warehouse where he thought the bus was stored. Alec was still asleep, so Logan leaned over and shook him awake.

"Alec," he whispered. "Alec, wake up." 

"What?" Alec sat up so abruptly that he almost caused Logan to lose his balance. "Oh, OK."

"We're here. You ready?"

"Yep." Alec stretched and yawned.

"The bus is supposed to be stored here. The license number is STA-9823. The seat numbers are L 3 and 4. The bag I'm looking for is supposed to be in the overhead compartment."

"OK."

"There is one heavily armed guard that I was able to spot. He patrols hourly. I don't know about any other security – I didn't detect any."

"No problem. I've been trained to bypass any security," Alec bragged.

"Yeah, right. You and Zack. GI Joe, both of you," Logan commented. "Get going."

Alec took that as a command. He got out of the car and headed down the hill. In a minute, he had vanished from sight. Logan took out his binoculars and watched the building. He saw Alec reappear, tiptoeing toward a small, high window on the side of the warehouse. Alec crouched down and leapt right up to the window, grabbing the sill with both hands. He pulled himself up and stood on the ledge, then carefully raised the window and disappeared inside.

There was nothing to do now but wait. Logan poured himself a cup of coffee from the thermos and settled in. The guard passed by the warehouse door, stopped, and looked around. Logan held his breath. Then the guard resumed his rounds. Logan exhaled.

******

Inside the warehouse, Alec had managed to get down to the main floor. He crept through the rows of old Seattle Transit Authority buses, studying the serial numbers until he found the one he was looking for. He checked the folding doors of the bus and discovered that they were locked. "Rats!" he said in a whisper as he unzipped the pouch on his belt and selected a lock-picking tool. 

"Is there a problem, Alec?" Logan asked into his earpiece.

"No," Alec replied in the same whisper. "The door's locked. No problem."

Within 30 seconds, he had picked the lock and had the door open. Silently, he made his way down the aisle, reading the seat numbers in the dim light. When he reached seats L 3 and 4, he stopped. Looking around surreptitiously, he determined that no one was in the warehouse to see his next actions. Alec stood up and opened the overhead compartment. Inside, as Logan had said, was a black ripstop nylon bag. 

"I've found the bag," he said.

"Great. Now get out of there."

He pulled it out of the compartment and slung the strap over his shoulder. Then he crouched down again and crept out of the bus, closing the door after him. 

Ten minutes later, he was on his way up the hill when the comm unit crackled in his ear. "The guard's coming around the corner. Get down!" Alec immediately sprawled on the damp grass, making himself as flat as possible. There he lay, barely breathing, for what seemed an eternity. 

At last, Logan gave him the all-clear. Alec quickly scrambled up the hill and climbed into the Aztek. He shed the pack, shrugging out of it, and handed it to Logan. "_Now I'll take some of that coffee," he said. _

Logan poured a mugful from the thermos and handed it to him. "Here." 

As Alec sipped the coffee gratefully, Logan unzipped the pack. Triumphantly, he pulled out a handful of computer disks. "Yes!" 

"That's what you were looking for?" Alec queried.

"Oh, yeah. Hopefully, this will nail Pierpont Lempkin to the wall." Logan continued to rat around in the pack and extracted several wads of 100 dollar bills. 

"Wow! How much money is that, anyway?" Alec asked, eyes wide at the size of the rolls of bills.

"I have no idea," Logan said. "But now it's a contribution to the Eyes Only Foundation."

Eagerly, Logan popped a disk into his laptop. He typed in the encryption codes and pressed ENTER. After a beep, the program began to run. As both men watched, rows upon rows of financial records scrolled across the screen.

"Oh, my God," Logan exclaimed. 

"What?" Alec said, not knowing what he was watching.

"Pierpont Lempkin's financial records – of his not-so-legitimate businesses. My informant had told me that the data on these disks was important, but I didn't realize _how important. Thanks, Alec. You've helped me take out a major bad guy." He shut down the program and popped the disk out. Carefully, he put it back in the pack and zipped it up. Then, with a smile on his face, Logan put the Aztek in gear and drove away from the warehouse. When he reached the garage of the apartment building, Alec hopped out._

"Gotta get to work," he said nonchalantly. "It's been fun. Call again when you have some more breaking and entering to do."

"Thanks again, Alec," Logan replied. He pulled the wheelchair from the back seat, popped on the wheels, and transferred into it. With the precious bag in his lap, he took the elevator back to his penthouse.

Half an hour later, armed with more hot coffee and a sandwich, Logan was back at the computer, examining the data on the disks. He was amazed at what he found, both in raw data and in the fact that Pierpont Lempkin actually kept it on disks in a safe. The encryption codes were all good, exactly as the informant had said. 

The third disk had what he was looking for. There were extensive records, going back at least five years, of prices for smuggled organs. They were sold to various clients in China. There were even invoices for the organs. Logan traced the payments to middlemen, British Eddie included. It seemed that he and his buddies were making a tidy living as go-betweens and shippers. 

Logan leaned back in satisfaction. He had the connection between the organ sellers and Pierpont Lempkin – Lux. Now he needed positive proof that the Steelheads were selling organs abroad as agents for Lempkin, and he needed to find the connection between Eddie and his crew and the people who actually extracted the organs, just to tighten the noose. Finally, he had to convince the media and the Seattle Police Department that a fine, upstanding citizen like Lempkin was actually making his money in such a nefarious way.

Logan spent the rest of the day at the computer, crunching data. It was outdated, about nine months old, but with the codes, and other information on the disks, he could hack directly into Lempkin's bank accounts. He was so excited by the prospect of finally taking Lempkin down that he completely forgot about eating until late that evening, when his stomach started to growl. Reluctantly, he shut down the program and took a break. He was stiff and he still ached from his bruised hip.

He wheeled into the kitchen and fixed himself a simple meal. Carefully placing a tray with his dinner and a bottle of beer on his lap, he went into the living room. He put the tray on the coffee table and stretched himself out on the couch in a sitting position. Unfolding the daily newspaper, he absently drank the beer. 

Logan glanced through the paper, skimming articles to see if there was anything of interest to Eyes Only. He ate a few forkfuls of pasta. He was about to turn the society page over when a small article caught his eye. The headline read: _Pierpont Lempkin to Host Charity Event_. It seemed that said Mr. Lempkin was hosting a party and charity auction at his estate over the weekend. All the movers and shakers of Seattle society, as well as the rich and famous from elsewhere were slated to attend. Logan wondered what he would have to do to wrangle an invitation.

*****

He didn't realize how tired he had been until he awoke the next morning still stretched out on the couch. Groggily, he shook his head to clear it, stiffly transferred to the chair, and headed for a hot shower. 

When he had changed clothes and had breakfast, Logan headed back to the computer. This time, he wanted to see if the guest list for Lempkin's party was online. After a frustrating hour and a half search, he finally found the list and scrolled through it. Several familiar names popped up, including his cousin Bennett's. That was a start. He picked up the phone and dialed Bennett's number.

The phone rang and rang, then finally clicked over to voice mail. Logan heard Bennett's voice telling him to leave a message.

"Hey, Bennett, it's Logan. I understand you got an invitation to Pierpont Lempkin's big do this weekend. Can you get me an invite? I've got some business with him. Call me back as soon as you can." He hung up the phone.

It immediately rang. Thinking it was Bennett returning his call, Logan picked up and said, "Hey, Bennett."

"Logan?" the voice wasn't Bennett's, but Matt Sung's.

"Oh, sorry, Matt. I was expecting a call from my cousin," Logan explained.

"I see. Look, Logan, I just called you to let you know that some of my guys jumped the gun and busted that Steelhead you gave me for selling steroids."

"Great," Logan said with more than a tinge of sarcasm in his voice. "I was hoping to nail him for something a lot more serious."

"It's okay. He made bail, so he's back out on the street. No harm done, I hope," Matt said, apologetically.

"Yeah, I hope. Thanks for the heads-up, Matt." Logan ran his fingers through his hair in frustration. "Um, just curious, Matt – who paid his bail?"

Logan could hear Matt shuffle papers. In a minute the reply came. "A Lucy Lempkin. Wonder if she's related to Pierpont Lempkin?"

"She's his kid sister. A Steelhead too, with an interesting police record here and in London. I think she's the mastermind of the gang."

"Hmm. I see. Well, it looks like Eyes Only is going to have fun with this one. Like I said before, Logan, be careful."

"I will."

"Good. Gotta go." Matt Sung hung up.

Logan hoped that British Eddie wouldn't connect him with the bust, but he had to take that chance and return to the market where the gang hung out. He needed to ingratiate himself enough to Eddie and the rest so the Steelheads would allow him access to their headquarters. Maybe he could find records there that would complete the connection he sought. He needed to know exactly where they hung out; entrances and exits; accessibility; communications setup; when they came and went, and if there was a pattern. Back in the day, he would have done the reconnaissance himself, but other than the fact that Eddie and his crew knew him, he wouldn't exactly be inconspicuous now. He would have to find an anonymous-looking accomplice to case the hangout. And he knew just the person.

It required another trip to Jam Pony, but it was a fine day and Logan needed the exercise. He grabbed his leather jacket and headed off.

*****

It was just before lunchtime and the messengers had begun to drift back to the office. Logan rolled down the ramp; greeted Normal, who gruffly acknowledged his presence; and headed for the lockers. Sketchy had his head stuck inside his locker, looking for something. He shut the metal door just as Logan approached.

"Hey, Logan, I still ain't seen Max," Sketchy said apologetically.

"I know, Sketchy. She's still out of town. I was looking for you. You got a minute?"

"Always. What's up?" Sketchy's eyebrows rose in surprise.

"Um, is there somewhere private where we can talk?" Logan spoke softly.

"Yeah, I guess so." Sketchy looked around and realized that anywhere private in the warehouse involved stairs. "Maybe outside?"

Logan nodded and headed back the way he had come. They went outside and, side by side, crossed the street to a small park. When they were sufficiently clear of Jam Pony, Sketchy turned to Logan and, in a conspiratorial tone of voice, asked, "So, what's up, dude?"

"I've seen you handle a camera. You like to take pictures, right?" Logan asked.

"Yeah, trying to hone my skills so I can be a reporter for the _New World Weekly_."

"Ah, right, _New World Weekly." Logan frowned. "You're a fan of Eyes Only, right?"_

"Yeah, I dig the man. He is righteous," Sketchy declared.

"Well, how would you like to help him out on a little mission?"

"Wow! _Me_ work for Eyes Only! Who do I have to kill?" Sketchy accurately lobbed a wad of old newspaper into a trashcan.

Logan laughed. "You don't have to kill anybody. As you may or may not know, I'm one of Eyes Only's informants…" he began.

"I thought so! Wow! That is _so_ cool!" Sketchy was beside himself.

"… and I need someone to do a little reconnaissance…."

"I'm your man. Absolutely. What do I have to do?"

"I need you to follow the Steelheads to their headquarters and take pictures – I'll lend you the camera – and report back to me about the place. I want to know everything about it, as well as who goes in and out. It may take a couple of days hiding out and snapping photos."

"Okay! Can I wear a disguise? They beat me pretty good. Wouldn't want them to do it again."

"I understand. Yeah, a disguise would be good. Now, I don't want you to take any chances. If you got caught, I wouldn't be able to come after you…." Logan warned, turning the chair to face Sketchy.

"Not to worry, dude. I'll be careful. Nobody will see the Sketchmeister," Sketchy swore. "Wow, an Eyes Only mission! I don't suppose you can tell me what this is all about, can you? I'd like to be able to write up a sample article for the paper – 'I Was an Undercover Agent' or something like that."

"I can't tell you about it right now. When it's over, though, I promise I will," Logan said.

"Cool. This is gonna be great! When do we start?"

"You can start as soon as you clear it with Normal. I don't want you to lose your job over this."

"Eh, being a bike messenger is so lame. I don't care. I'll be ready first thing tomorrow. I am so excited!"

Logan had to laugh at Sketchy's enthusiasm. "OK. I'll meet you here tomorrow morning at nine."

Sketchy mock-saluted Logan. "Great, boss." 

His errand done, Logan turned around to leave the park. As he wheeled away, Sketchy trotted over to catch up with him.

"I gotta ask you one question...."

Logan stopped, his hands on the rims of his wheels. "Yeah?"

"Um, I saw the hoverdrone film of you being ambushed a couple of years ago. Did you get hurt on an Eyes Only mission?"

"Yeah, Sketchy, I did." Logan looked down and rubbed his thighs.

"Wow, that is so cool!" Sketchy blurted out, then realized what he had said, and tried to recover. "I mean, it's not cool that you got hurt...just that you...went back to working for Eyes Only after all that..." he stumbled.

"It's okay, Sketchy," Logan said, a tight smile on his face. "I understand what you're saying." 

"Anyway, I'll catch ya at nine tomorrow, Logan. And thanks."

They parted, and Logan went back to his apartment, wondering if he had done the right thing in asking Sketchy to help. Well, he decided, he'd find out the next day.

**End of Chapter 4**

  
  


* * *


	5. Steel Trap, Chapter 5

Disclaimer: Dark Angel is owned by Charles Eglee, James Cameron, and Fox. I claim no rights to these characters, alas, although I like to play with them.  
  
Episode Reference: Takes place immediately after Some Assembly Required  
  
Rating: PG  
  
Summary: A Logan Cale, Man of Action fic, complete with Steelheads and major bad guys  
  
A/N: This is for Alaidh, who requested another LCMOA fic from me. Thanks to my betas, Alaidh and Kasman, for their insight.  
  
I live for reviews. You know what to do.  
  
Steel Trap Chapter 5  
  
The next morning, Sketchy showed up at 9 a.m. in the park, as he and Logan had agreed. If anything, Sketchy looked even more disreputable than ever, with dirty hair and stubble, wearing a shapeless hooded sweatshirt that looked like it might have been green at one time, faded, torn jeans, and sunglasses.  
  
"I hope you don't get hassled by the sector police, dressed like that," Logan commented with a laugh.  
  
"Hey, I didn't want them to recognize me," Sketchy explained. "I really would prefer not to experience another beatdown."  
  
"I can understand that. Here's the camera. I want pictures of everything - especially all the entrances and exits - and everybody who comes and goes. There are plenty of extra diskettes, so don't be stingy," Logan said, handing Sketchy a nylon sack. "Be careful."  
  
"Word." Sketchy shot Logan as earnest a look as he could. "How long do you want me to do this?"  
  
"I'd like to have a 24-hour record. Just in case."  
  
"You got it." Sketchy grinned goofily at Logan. "See ya tomorrow. Same time, same place."  
  
"Yeah, and Sketchy, you gotta stop watching all those old TV shows. They'll fry your brain." Logan turned his chair around and wheeled away, leaving Sketchy to his mission.  
  
*****  
  
When Logan arrived back at his penthouse, he saw that he had a message. He pressed the PLAY button, and Bennett's voice wafted through the air.  
  
"Hey, Logan, sorry I missed you. You *want* to go to a party? Am I hearing correctly? I can get you an invite, but it'll cost you. This one's strictly for charity. Anyway, give me a call. Later."  
  
Logan hit the redial button and called Bennett back. This time, his cousin actually answered.  
  
"Hey, Bennett, it's Logan."  
  
"Yeah, so you say. What's this about you *wanting* to go to a party? Who *are* you, really, and what have you done with Logan?" Bennett joked.  
  
"It's not that I *want* to, it's that I have some business with Pierpont Lempkin and that would be an ideal place to conduct it," Logan explained.  
  
"Dare I ask what kind of business you have with Lempkin? He's not exactly your altruistic type."  
  
"Let's just say it's international, and leave it at that," Logan replied cryptically.  
  
"Uh-oh, Logan Cale, International Man of Mystery," Bennett said, referring to one of his favorite old movies.  
  
"Yeah, something like that." *If you only knew,* Logan thought.  
  
"No problem. You just want one ticket?"  
  
"Yeah, coming stag," Logan said ruefully.  
  
"What happened to that stunner you brought to the wedding?"  
  
"She's out of town on family business."  
  
"I'll send over my spare ticket by courier tomorrow. Marianne will be out of town too- a family emergency - so, ya lucked out, as usual."  
  
"Thanks, Bennett. I appreciate it."  
  
"It'll be good to see you again. It's been too long."  
  
"Yeah, it has. I'll see you Saturday." Logan hung up. Another piece of his plan had fallen into place.  
  
He went to the bank of computers and turned on the system. From his archives, he retrieved the plans of Lempkin's house and the sophisticated security system he had found the previous year. He wanted to study them, memorize them, in case he had the opportunity to do some investigation at Lempkin's during the party.  
  
Logan unlocked a drawer of his desk and pulled out the wad of bills Max had stolen from Lempkin. There was plenty to pay for his ticket to the charity event, with enough left over to flash if need be. It was ironic, he thought, that Lempkin's own money would be used to take him down.  
  
The only thing left to do while he waited for Sketchy to complete his mission was to see if his tuxedo needed cleaning. He hadn't worn it since Bennett and Marianne's wedding, and he couldn't remember what shape it was in. Considering all that had happened that weekend, he couldn't remember much of anything about it. If nothing else, the pants legs needed lengthening, and his drycleaner/tailor could do that on the spot.  
  
Logan shut down the computers, went into his bedroom, and got the tux out of the closet. He gathered up the shirt, cummerbund, and tie, and put all of it in a plastic bag. A trip to the cleaners would help take his mind off the project for a while. There was little he could do until he heard from Sketchy.  
  
*****  
  
Sketchy lurked near the shabby building that housed the steelheads. To passersby, he looked like all the other street people who hung around the market, hoping for handouts. Consequently, he was pretty much ignored. Every now and then, he got up from wherever he was sitting, and moved to a new position. From that new angle, he snapped pictures discreetly for a while, before moving to a new spot. In that way, he completely circled the building. Periodically, he took notes in a battered notebook, using a well- chewed pencil. He figured that he would not only have photos for Logan, but also a written record of occurrences.  
  
Not that much was happening, he thought ruefully. He had hoped for something exciting, something dangerous, something that would make him indispensable to Eyes Only. Then he thought about the hoverdrone footage of Logan and the others getting shot, and of Logan in the wheelchair. Sketchy may have been a stoner, but he wasn't a fool; he hunkered down and took his pictures and made his notes, and forgot about grandstanding.  
  
As he moved closer to the building to which he had followed the Steelheads, he saw a sign engraved above the front door: Nutman's Mortuary. Why did that sound familiar? He pounded his head a few times, hoping to fire the synapses up enough to dig up the reference. Slowly, the memory surfaced - Theo's ashes. His late coworker had been cremated there. The place must have gone out of business shortly thereafter, to be taken over by British Eddie and his buddies.  
  
Sketchy yawned. His stomach rumbled, so he pulled a greasy paper bag out of a pocket and took out one of the sandwiches he had packed for the occasion. He nibbled it, then followed it up with a bottle of soda he took from the other pocket. He glanced at his watch: 4 p.m. It was going to be a long day.  
  
*****  
  
Logan tried to keep busy while he waited for Sketchy to finish his task, hoping the bike messenger wasn't as big a flake as he projected to the world. The trip to the dry cleaners had taken only an hour. Now he was back in the penthouse, trying not to obsess about Pierpont Lempkin. He hoped that Sketchy's photographs would reveal a way for him to get into the building and snoop around. He couldn't use Alec because of the beating the young transgenic had administered to Eddie and his friends earlier. He would surely be recognized if he were spotted taking pictures, or if he broke into the building to steal files and got caught.  
  
Logan figured that if *he* got caught, he could probably bluff his way out of danger, unlike Alec. He just had to make sure he could get in. He silently cursed Zack for shooting up the exoskeleton. It would have made the whole enterprise much easier. On the other hand, he thought, what would he have done if Phil had *not* given him the exoskeleton, or if he hadn't been able to get it working? He'd be right where he was now, in the chair. Logan shook off the thought and headed to the kitchen to prepare dinner.  
  
While the pot roast was cooking, Logan decided to try a workout. The bruise on his hip had faded considerably, and the parts of his body that still had sensation no longer had that jolted feeling that had dissuaded him from doing a full workout earlier in the week. A nice, leisurely workout would distract him from worrying about Sketchy and taking down Lempkin, he thought. He went into the bedroom and changed into a tee shirt and sweat pants, then rolled into the exercise room to begin his regimen.  
  
He warmed up with a few stretching exercises, then went on to the range of motion exercises that Bling had taught him what seemed like so long ago. He gradually worked up a sweat, taking it slow and easy so he didn't further damage anything he couldn't feel. He strapped himself down to the table and did sit-ups and crunches to burn off his frustration with waiting. Next came the strength training that had been so important in the early days, when all he could depend on to get himself around was his upper body and arms.  
  
Finally, feeling tired and less tense, Logan cooled down. He wanted to practice the martial arts moves he had learned from Bling after the escapade with Gerhardt Bronck, but there was no one to practice with. Maybe he would call Alec later and see if he was available for a little one-on- one. He had a feeling he would need those moves shortly.  
  
A hot shower put him in a much better mood. The oven timer had gone off, indicating that his dinner was ready. He had made enough food for several days, in case he would be too busy to cook later, or in case Max came back and was hungry. He hoped she would stop by and join him for a meal when she got back, since they had figured out a system whereby she could eat his food and not infect him with the deadly virus. Ever since she had first dropped in on him for dinner, Logan hated to eat alone.  
  
He made himself a cup of coffee and ate dinner at the kitchen counter. Afterward, he cleaned up the kitchen and turned in early. A good night's sleep would prepare him for whatever Sketchy had come up with in his task.  
  
*****  
  
Sketchy's eyes drooped, but he shook himself awake. Nothing much had happened during the day. He had recognized various members of the Steelhead gang - the tall black guy and his small, blue-haired sidekick, and British Eddie. The little guy was sporting some sort of metal arm. The woman was nowhere to be seen.  
  
Sketchy pulled his hood closer to his face as the chill November air stabbed at him. He had circled the old mortuary several times, discreetly taking pictures. He looked at his watch again. It was nearly 2 a.m. He was about to nod off, when a car pulled up in front of the building. Abruptly, Sketchy sat up straight, banging his knee against a dumpster. He gritted his teeth in pain.  
  
The man who got out of the car was Oriental, well dressed, with an air of authority about him. He was accompanied by two Asian thugs in well-tailored suits. They were packing, judging from the bulges near their armpits. One of the thugs knocked on the mortuary door. Eddie opened it. The honcho nodded at the other thug, who was holding one of those metallic bulletproof suitcases. The thug opened it, revealing rows and rows of neatly bundled bills. Eddie turned around and went back into the building. When he returned, he was carrying a small cooler with medical markings on it. He and the thug exchanged cases. Eddie glanced briefly at the cash, as if he trusted the amount to be correct, snapped the suitcase shut, and nodded to the three men. Not a word had been exchanged. The transaction took less than two minutes.  
  
Wide awake now, Sketchy put a new diskette into the camera and wondered if the night would bring more business transactions. He didn't have long to wait. No more than 15 minutes after the men had left, another car pulled up and parked along side the building. Some one got out of the car. Sketchy didn't recognize him, but he noted the predatory look of the guy's face and his hawklike eyes. Furiously, Sketchy snapped photos, using the zoom lens to get as close as he could. Another man, big, burly, and bullet-headed accompanied the first man. The second guy looked like hired muscle, probably a bodyguard.  
  
The two men proceeded up the steps of the defunct mortuary. The predatory- looking goon knocked on the door with a heavy fist. Once again, Eddie opened the door, but this time he spoke to both men; Sketchy was too far away to hear the conversation. All of them seemed very serious. Eddie handed the goon the metallic suitcase. The goon opened it and pulled out the contents. He counted the money, making a big deal out of the procedure. Then he smiled and removed several bundles of bills, which he handed to Eddie. He walked back to the waiting car. Eddie went back into the building, closing the door behind him. The two men departed shortly thereafter.  
  
*****  
  
Logan tossed and turned, unable to sleep. He peered at the alarm clock on the nightstand: almost 3 a.m. He rolled over onto his back and stared at the ceiling for what seemed an eternity. He wished he had given Sketchy a spare cell phone so they could have kept in touch; it was maddening that he had no idea what was going on, or if Sketchy was all right. As much as the bike messenger was a self-admitted stoner and flake, Logan knew he would feel personally responsible if anything happened to him. Finally, he gave up on trying to get back to sleep. He turned on the light, put on his glasses, picked up the book he kept on the nightstand, and opened it to the book-marked page.  
  
*****  
  
Sketchy nodded off every now and then in the chilly hours before dawn, mentally telling himself that he would wake up at the first noise coming from the building, but there was no more activity around the Steelheads' headquarters. He had shifted his cramped position a few times to get the blood circulating in his legs, but for the past two hours, he had been stuffed into a crate along side the mortuary.  
  
"I sure hope Eyes Only appreciates all the work I put into this," he grumbled to himself. He rubbed his eyes and tried to stretch a little. He would have killed for a cup of what passed as coffee at Jam Pony. But, he rationalized, the task would soon be over and he could turn over the camera and photos to Logan. Depending on how valuable the pictures were, maybe Eyes Only would request his services again. *That* would be cool, he thought.  
  
*****  
  
Logan knew that trying to read the book was an exercise in futility when he read the same paragraph three times. Reluctantly, he stuck the bookmark back in and closed the book. He missed Max more than ever, knowing that a challenging game of chess would be just what he needed. He decided to give up on sleep and get up. He still had a few more hours before he was supposed to meet up with Sketchy.  
  
After transferring to the chair, he went into the kitchen and started the coffeemaker. He slid a CD into the player and sat in front of the living room window, looking out over the city as jazz played softly. The sky was beginning to acquire pale streaks of pink over the skyline; the phrase "rosy-fingered dawn" jumped into his mind, a remnant of his university studies in classical literature.  
  
The coffeemaker stopped bubbling, indicating that the process was finished. Logan went back to the kitchen and poured himself a large cup, then took his place back at the window to watch the day break. 


	6. Steel Trap, Chapter 6

Steel Trap  
  
Disclaimer: Dark Angel is owned by Charles Eglee, James Cameron, and Fox. I claim no rights to these characters, alas, although I like to play with them.  
  
Episode Reference: Takes place immediately after Some Assembly Required  
  
Rating: PG  
  
Summary: A Logan Cale, Man of Action fic, complete with Steelheads and major bad guys  
  
A/N: This is for Alaidh, who requested another LCMOA fic from me. Thanks to my betas, Alaidh and Kasman, for their insight.  
  
I live for reviews. You know what to do.  
  
Chapter Six  
  
By half past eight, Logan had showered, dressed, and considered fixing breakfast, but his nerves had gotten the better of him. He left for the park early, having nothing better to do and hoped that the short trip would calm him down.  
  
He was ten minutes early to the park, looking around, almost sniffing the air as if he were a wild animal wary of hunters. His relief was palpable when he saw Sketchy sauntering toward him. He let out a deep breath.  
  
"Hey, Logan. Morning," Sketchy said, totally unaware of the tension his presence relieved.  
  
"Hey, Sketchy," Logan replied, a smile on his face. "How'd it go?"  
  
" 'Cake," Sketchy commented smugly.  
  
"Great."  
  
"I think you'll be happy with what I got. And I've included notes too. It's all in the sack." Sketchy handed the nylon bag to Logan.  
  
"Excellent. No problems?" Logan stuffed the bag into the backpack on the chair.  
  
"Nah, everything was copasetic. Pretty quiet, except for the middle of the night. Hope I got stuff Eyes Only can use."  
  
"I'm sure you did. Thanks, Sketchy," Logan said sincerely.  
  
"Hey, my pleasure. Any time I can help the great man.."  
  
"I'm sure he'll appreciate what you did."  
  
"Kewl. And let him know I'm available for other - missions, okay?"  
  
"I'll let him know." Logan looked up at Sketchy. "Can I buy you breakfast?"  
  
"That would be cool. I'm starved. Hanging out in a crate is hungry work!" Sketchy laughed.  
  
Logan put his hand on his wheels and backed the chair up. He turned around and headed for a coffee shop he knew between Jam Pony and the park. Sketchy shambled along side him, hands in his pockets.  
  
When they got to the coffee shop, Logan popped a wheelie over the doorjamb and found a table nearby. Sketchy pulled one of the chairs away so Logan could get up close to the table, then sat down across from him. A kid in a greasy apron came over and took their orders.  
  
"Must be exciting," Sketchy commented.  
  
"What?" Logan wasn't sure what Sketchy was talking about.  
  
"Working for Eyes Only. Must be exciting." Sketchy elaborated on his comment.  
  
"Sometimes," Logan admitted, trying to be noncommittal. "Mostly a lot of research. Banging away on the computer."  
  
"Do you like being a journalist?" Sketchy's voice was full of yearning. "I really want to be a reporter."  
  
"Yeah, Sketchy. I do." Logan leaned back in the chair and began to relax. "I like to think that what I write makes a difference. And I like to think that what I relay to Eyes Only makes a difference."  
  
"Oh, I'm sure it does. I just hope I can do the same someday. Being a bike messenger is not my idea of a lifelong career, although it'll do until something better comes along. Does keep me in beer and an occasional game of pool, though."  
  
Their breakfasts arrived and Sketchy tore into his food like it was his last meal. Logan picked at his food, eager to get back to his computers and see what Sketchy had photographed.  
  
At last, Sketchy wolfed down his last forkful of scrambled eggs and gulped his third cup of coffee.  
  
"I better get to work before Normal realizes I'm missing," he said by way of farewell. "Thanks for breakfast."  
  
Logan nodded and finished his coffee. He watched Sketchy walk away, headed for Jam Pony. Then he called for the check, paid the bill, and left the coffee shop.  
  
*****  
  
When he arrived back at the penthouse, Logan eagerly unpacked the sack, extracted the diskettes, and booted up his computers. Once the system was up and running, he inserted the first diskette and looked over the photos.  
  
Sketchy had been meticulous. The Steelheads' HQ had been photographed from all angles; not an inch of the building had been neglected. As Logan had suspected, there was a rear entrance nearly at ground level, with a sturdy concrete ramp, as well as an extra wide door, in place to ease the entrance and exit of caskets, as Logan realized when he saw the tattered sign on the door. He smiled to himself; getting in and out of the building would be easy. All he had to do was find out where Eddie kept the records, if indeed he had any.  
  
He looked over all the time-stamped photos, noting what times Eddie, Lux, and the others came and went. It seemed that the best time for a little breaking and entering was between 6 and 9 PM, when the gang was out, probably getting dinner somewhere. He planned his moves for that timeframe, laughing ruefully at the thought that he was the world's only crippled cat burglar.  
  
The photographs at the end of the diskette startled him. He carefully peered at the screen, watching the first transaction unfold; it was obvious that Sketchy had snapped almost continuously. Logan didn't recognize the Oriental guys, but he could guess what was taking place. The photos on the diskette came to an end and Logan popped it out and replaced it with the next one.  
  
He*did* recognize the men who participated in the second transaction, however. The first man was one of Pierpont Lempkin's henchmen; the second was one of his bodyguards. "Good job, Sketchy," he said aloud. The evidence against Lempkin was beginning to accumulate.  
  
Logan began to assemble the dossier. Into it went the photos, Sketchy's notes, the encrypted ledgers, and Lux and Eddie's criminal records. It was almost time for an Eyes Only hack. He hoped that whatever he would find at the old mortuary that evening would add yet another nail to Lempkin's coffin. The irony did not escape Logan.  
  
*****  
  
The November sun was setting as Logan prepared for the evening's activities. After a brief nap, he had changed into a black turtleneck sweater and black cargo pants - he felt that all the pockets on the pants would come in handy. From the desk drawer, he extracted a small package, rolled up and tied. He undid it to check the contents and smiled at the thought that Max wasn't the only one with lock picking tools. He rolled it up again and retied it, then stuffed it into one of the knee-level pockets on his pants. Into another pocket went a couple of tiny, but powerful flashlights and a pair of black leather gloves. The last item was his gun. He inserted a clip, made sure the safety was on, and put it into the pack that hung over the back of the wheelchair. He grabbed his leather jacket and a woolen watch cap from the coat rack, made sure he had his keys, and left the penthouse.  
  
When he got to the garage, he opened the rear hatch of the Aztek and pulled out his sports chair, which was more or less permanently stashed there for pick-up basketball games and emergencies. He had decided to use that instead of the regular one since the sports chair was lighter, faster, easier to maneuver, and turned on a dime. It also had anti-tippers on it, which might come in handy. He stashed it behind the seat for handy access. He had already removed his gun from the backpack of his other chair and hidden it in the map pocket on the front door.  
  
*****  
  
It was pitch dark when Logan arrived at the defunct mortuary. He drove around to the rear of the building and parked the Aztek a short distance away, where it would probably not be noticed. He donned the black leather jacket, zipped it, and turned up the collar against the rising wind, then took his gun from its hiding place and shoved it into his pocket. He put on the leather gloves. After assembling the sports chair and transferring into it, he cautiously made his way to the Steelheads' headquarters, on the lookout for anyone in the vicinity. Since the neighborhood was not the best, and it was a chilly night, few people cared to venture out after dark for a stroll.  
  
Nutman's Mortuary was dark; it seemed that Eddie, Lux, and crew were off on a dinner break. Logan surveyed the building briefly, then wheeled up the ramp to the double doors. He locked his brakes, not wanting to roll backwards into the street, and checked the door. "Of course it's locked," he grumbled. "What self-respecting crook would go out and leave his doors unlocked?"  
  
Out came the lock picking kit and one of the flashlights. Logan held the flashlight in his mouth while he jiggered around with the lock. Not having Max's expertise, it took him a few minutes, but at last, the door opened. He put the kit back in his pants pocket, then rolled inside the building.  
  
Sweeping the place with the flashlight, Logan could see traces of the earlier elegance of the mortuary, now cluttered with mismatched furniture, a large color TV, and a refrigerator. It looked like the main living area. There was nothing in the room that looked like it could hold records. He wheeled through it, with barely enough space for the chair, searching for a door that might lead to an office or storage room. There were several at the rear of the room.  
  
Logan chose a door and opened it. As he sat in the doorway, he shone the flashlight around the smaller, but equally cluttered room. This one contained an embalming table, a couple of caskets, and funerary paraphernalia, but still nothing that resembled file cabinets or even cardboard boxes of a size that could house files. Logan turned the flashlight on his wristwatch. It was after 7 pm. He had to hurry if he was going to search records.  
  
He backed out of the room and rolled over to the next door. He carefully pushed it open and once again, shone the flashlight around.  
  
"Jackpot!" he said to himself as he entered the room. He was in a shabby office, with a desk, several chairs and two heavy, old-fashioned wooden file cabinets. A computer was on the desk, but he resisted the temptation to hack into it right away. He figured Eddie was more of a paper files kind of guy, while Lux was the techie. He could always hack into the computer remotely later, but he had to search the hard copy files up close and now.  
  
Logan pulled up to the first file cabinet, an oak, five-drawer affair that loomed over his head by a couple of feet. He opened the easiest drawer to reach, the one next to the bottom, and ran his flashlight over the rows of files stuffed into it. Randomly, he pulled out one, opened the manila folder, and scanned it. It was one of the mortuary files. With an exasperated sigh, Logan replaced it and rummaged through the rest of the folders in the drawer. They were all mortuary-related.  
  
The same thing held for the files in the lowest drawer: Nutman's records going back to the turn of the twenty-first century. Logan shut the drawer, reached up, and pulled open the drawer next to the top. He stuck his hand in and extracted a file: yet more Nutman's records. He assumed the top drawer contained the same thing, since the folders seemed to be in alphabetical order.  
  
He moved over to the next file cabinet and repeated the exercise. These folders did not contain Nutman's files. They held, among other things, income tax information for Eddie, Lux, and the other two Steelheads Logan had seen with them, whose names appeared to be Bird and Tuck. There were two sets of records for each tax form, as if the gang members had tried to figure which way would give them the best returns. There were folders full of receipts of all kinds. To Logan it seemed that the Steelheads were attempting to pursue a law-abiding profile, even down to tax records.  
  
The bottom drawer was full of junk: old magazines, newspaper clippings about Pierpont Lempkin and his cronies and the Steelhead subculture. There was nothing in the file drawer of interest to Logan. If there were any paper records, they were in the top two or three drawers of the file cabinet.*Why make it easy for me,* Logan thought, laughing silently.  
  
Once again, he opened the second drawer and blindly reached in to pull out a folder. This time, he hit paydirt. The folder was entitled "Transactions, 2019." Logan quickly scanned the files. They were cryptic, but not too difficult to decipher. It didn't take much imagination to figure out what "L Ky," "R Ky," and "LVR" meant. Logan tucked the folder into his jacket. He needed to see the rest of the file drawer's contents, but there was no time to randomly pull out files. He would have to be a bit more aggressive in his methods, he decided.  
  
Logan backed the sports chair up a bit and locked the brakes. He reached up and pulled at the drawer, trying to jiggle it, to see if the cabinet would move. It seemed to be solid and heavy enough to hold his weight. Putting the flashlight in his mouth, Logan took hold of the file cabinet, the drawer with one hand, and the top of the cabinet with the other, and pulled himself upright, thankful for Bling's exercises and nagging. He moved one hand across the files to hold onto the other side of the drawer. He hung, half standing, half suspended, from the file drawer, his feet barely touching the footrest of the wheelchair.  
  
Afraid to let out his breath for fear of the file cabinet toppling over, Logan looked over the titles on the folder tabs. Moving his head slightly, he shone the flashlight on the contents of the drawer. There were similarly labeled folders for 2020 and the current year; they must have started up the organ smuggling shortly after arriving in Seattle. Logan gingerly removed the other folders, hanging on for dear life by one arm, and carefully dropped them onto the floor, to be retrieved when he finally let go of the file cabinet. He also found a list of regular partners, the men who bought the organs and resold them to wealthy clients in Asia. The information was excellent and would bring down Eddie and company, but Logan had yet to find the connection between them and Lempkin, other than the fact that Lux was Pierpont's sister. It had to be there somewhere.  
  
Logan's arms were beginning to tire. He had to find the connection in the next five or so minutes. He ransacked the drawer, but was unable to find what he was looking for. It had to be in the top drawer.  
  
"Damn!" Logan said to himself as he carefully let go of the drawer and lowered himself back into the chair. He closed the drawer and shook his arms to get the circulation going again. After a couple of deep breaths to calm himself, he reached up and opened the top drawer. Reaching it was a struggle, but once he had his hands in place - one on the top of the filing cabinet and one on the open drawer for balance, he was able to chin himself slowly up to the drawer. He knew he wouldn't be able to hold on for long, so he hoped he could find what he was looking for quickly.  
  
Once again, flashlight in mouth, Logan scanned the file folders. They seemed to be a jumble of miscellaneous items, like bills for the television set (not bought by the Steelheads, but stolen, along with the set). There were files of local businesses they shook down for "protection," information Logan normally would be delighted to find, if he hadn't been looking for something more important.  
  
He spotted a folder tab labeled "Far East Trading Company." It set off an alarm in his mind because there was no business in the immediate area with that name. Painfully, with one hand, he extracted the folder and opened it. Shining the flashlight in his mouth onto the papers, Logan saw a list of regular payments to the Far East Trading Company by Eddie and Lux. Since they didn't seem to be dealing in Asian artifacts or souvenirs, Logan wondered what they were paying for. On a hunch, he dropped the folder on top of the others and let go. When he had time back at the penthouse, he would compare the transaction records against the payments.  
  
Out of breath, Logan took the flashlight from his mouth, and closed the file drawer. He bent over and picked up the folders from the floor and stuck them down his jacket. Looking at his watch, he decided it was time to get out of Dodge. He unlocked the brakes on the chair and pushed himself toward the door, feeling the muscles in his shoulders burn.  
  
Shutting the door behind him, Logan reentered the main area of the building. He wheeled through it silently, deftly avoiding the clutter. Just as he was about to open the back door and leave, he heard the sound of a key turning in the lock. Someone was returning to the mortuary and he was trapped. He retrieved his gun from his jacket pocket, slid the safety off, chambered a round, and waited. 


	7. Steel Trap, Chapter 7

Disclaimer: Dark Angel is owned by Charles Eglee, James Cameron, and Fox. I claim no rights to these characters, alas, although I like to play with them.  
  
Episode Reference: Takes place immediately after Some Assembly Required  
  
Rating: PG  
  
Summary: A Logan Cale, Man of Action fic, complete with Steelheads and major bad guys  
  
A/N: This is for Alaidh, who requested another LCMOA fic from me. Thanks to my betas, Alaidh and Kasman, for their insight. AND special thanks to Wyldegod for his invaluable help with the fight scene.  
  
I live for reviews. You know what to do.  
  
Steel Trap  
Chapter Seven  
  
Thanking the fates that he had decided to use the highly maneuverable sports chair, Logan spun around and headed back into the office. Just as the back door opened, he closed the office door behind him and clicked off the flashlight. He dared not even lock his brakes, lest the sound alert the Steelhead. Sitting against the door in the dark, Logan could hear voices on the other side.  
  
"Oy! Do you know where you put it?" yelled an accented voice in the distance. British Eddie.  
  
"Yeah," another voice, this time from inside the building, answered. It sounded like Tuck, the big, black Steelhead. "I'll find it."  
  
Logan heard Tuck move some furniture, probably chairs, around on the other side of the door. There was a loud scraping squeal as he pushed a table aside.  
  
"Got it!" Tuck shouted triumphantly, pushing the furniture back into place. A few minutes later, the door opened again, then shut with a slam.  
  
Logan squeezed his eyes tightly shut and let out a breath. He unchambered the round and slipped the safety back on, before putting the gun back in his pocket. After transferring the files from inside his jacket to the backpack on his chair, he waited another five minutes, then cautiously opened the office door.  
  
The mortuary was dark and silent once more. Logan again left the office and made his way through the building, the Maglight in his lap. He listened at the back door before opening it, but heard nothing. He opened the door and silently slipped through to the outside.  
  
The night had turned colder and wetter, making the ramp a bit slippery. Logan skidded down it and landed on the street with a small thump. He turned to head back to the car when a voice stopped him cold.  
  
"Oy! What the 'ell are you doing?" British Eddie emerged from the shadows of a dumpster, cigarette in one hand. His eyes glowed like a feral animal in the dim light of a street lamp as he walked toward Logan.  
  
"I, uh, was looking for you. A - friend of mine wanted some 'andy.' I was in the neighborhood, so." Logan grinned sheepishly.  
  
"Yeah, right," Eddie said skeptically. "Sorry, mate, but nobody's just 'in the neighborhood' around here after dark. Ain't safe, you know." He eyed Logan up and down, a suspicious expression on his face. "Now, why are you *really* here?"  
  
"Ah, ya got me," Logan admitted, taking his hands off the wheel rims and turning them palms up. "I was just casing the place so I could rob it later on."  
  
"I wouldn't be surprised. You strike me as a crazy bugger. Besides, if you just arrived a few minutes ago, you'd have met up with me mate, Tuck. And he didn't mention seeing you." Eddie tossed the cigarette away, and put one hand in his jacket pocket.  
  
Logan shrugged his shoulders. "What can I say?"  
  
"Now, I admit, Tuck's a bit dim, but he ain't *that* dim. He'd notice a bloke in a wheelchair waiting on 'is doorstep. So, why don't you try again?" Eddie was nearly on top of Logan, leaning over him menacingly. He took his hand out of his pocket and held up a switchblade. With a flick, the blade was exposed, glinting briefly beneath the street lamp.  
  
"Ah, hate to tell you this, but the last guy who pulled a knife on me died with it in his gut," Logan commented, as calmly as he could, looking up at Eddie.  
  
"Yeah? Izzat so? What you gonna do? Run over me toes with that thing?" Eddie leaned down farther, the blade of his shiv at Logan's throat. Logan knew that Eddie was too close for him to use his gun; by the time he got it out of his pocket, Eddie could slit his throat. He also figured that he would have to kneecap Eddie somehow to bring him down to his own level. As long as Eddie was standing, *he* would have the advantage.  
  
Drawing in a breath, Logan quickly pulled backward on his left wheel, which drew his neck away from Eddie's blade. He - narrowly missed Eddie's slash at his throat. The Steelhead was quick, and came directly at Logan, swinging back along his arc with the blade. Logan ducked forward, locking his brakes in the movement, avoiding British Eddie's second attempt to slash him.  
  
"Cheeky bastard!" Eddie growled. Logan sat up again, narrowly escaping a downward slash from Eddie, but sustaining a nick to his neck. The Steelhead pitched forward just enough for Logan to deliver a powerful uppercut square into Eddie's chin. The punch sent Eddie reeling backward three or four steps, and this time, Logan unlocked his brakes and followed Eddie across the street toward the dumpster.  
  
Logan rolled right into Eddie's legs, using his knees as a battering ram. Eddie howled and began to crumple as Logan's unfeeling knees smashed into his, but he swung the blade back toward Logan. Leaning forward to maintain balance, Logan reached up with both hands to catch the arm with the blade. Eddie didn't waste the opportunity, punching Logan hard in the face several times as he wrestled with the weapon. The force of the blows would have sent Logan tumbling out of his chair, but his grip on Eddie's wrist kept him in the fight.  
  
Logan held Eddie's blade hand in the iron grip of his own strong left hand. Eddie pulled back for another blow, and Logan seized the moment, delivering a very hard shot into Eddie's solar plexus. The Brit immediately began to gasp, and Logan barely felt the shot to his head. Using his right hand to block another punch, Logan's defensive push sent Eddie's arm outward. He then had the extension he needed to fire his own volley of quick, sharp punches into the Steelhead's face.  
  
Eddie, stunned from the blows to his left cheek, tried to stand up and reorganize his attack, but Logan still held his wrist with blade in hand. Logan reached to the opposite brake with his right hand and locked the wheel, quickly pulling on the right wheel to spin out and away from Eddie. Using the leverage from the maneuver, Logan pulled downward, yanking the switchblade from Eddie's hand, and sinking it deep into the Brit's leg, just above his thigh. He used his right arm again, this time pulling Eddie forward and pitching him head over ass onto the street. Eddie crashed hard onto the small of his back, winded.  
  
The Steelhead had underestimated Logan's upper body strength, seeing the chair as a weakness. Eddie's body sprawled on the wet, dirty street. He was gasping for breath and clutching at his leg where the blade had sunk deep.  
  
Logan leaned forward in his chair and looked down on the winded Steelhead. "You know, I warned you," he said. "Consider yourself lucky." He used his forward momentum to punch downward, squarely into the middle of Eddie's face. The punch sent Eddie's head hard into the pavement, and the dual blow knocked him unconscious. Once Eddie was incapacitated, Logan hauled out of there as fast as he could, once again thankful for the speed and maneuverability of the sports chair. He didn't even look around to see if Eddie's henchmen were anywhere to be found. He got to the car, transferred into it quickly, disassembled the chair, stuffed it behind the seat, and took off.  
  
*****  
  
Back at his apartment, Logan finally felt able to breathe. He got out of his damp burglar's clothes, showered off the blood and grime from his altercation with Eddie, and checked the nick on his neck to see how bad it was. It only required some antibiotic cream and a band-aid. Then he changed into sweatpants and a sweater. He couldn't decide whether he wanted coffee or a drink, so he compromised by making himself a strong cup of coffee, into which he poured a jigger of whiskey. Hunger finally got the better of him, so he heated up some leftovers and settled down at his desk to go over the files he had retrieved.  
  
He had just begun to peruse the first one when the phone rang. The caller ID indicated an unknown number. He let it ring. When the caller began to leave a message, he recognized Max's voice, so he turned off the answering machine and picked up the phone.  
  
"Hey," he said in greeting.  
  
"Hey yourself," Max replied. "Thought for a minute you weren't there."  
  
"Sorry. Didn't recognize the number, so I thought I'd let the machine pick up the message. I was working on something."  
  
"You're *always* working on something, aren't you?" Max's tone of voice indicated to Logan the eye roll that she was doing.  
  
"Yeah, well, you know.. So, how's Zack?"  
  
"He's doing okay. Seems to be fitting in. Buddy's been so kind to him. I think Zack's actually enjoying farm life."  
  
"I'm glad to hear that." Logan's voice was sincere. He might have considered Zack a rival at one time, but he knew that Max had made her choice.  
  
"Anyway, I just wanted to let you know I'll be home Sunday."  
  
"Great. I'll have dinner ready. Gotta feed a hungry female, right?" Logan joked, thankful that she hadn't called an hour ago.  
  
"So, whatcha been up to?" Max asked.  
  
"Not much. Just working on a case with Matt." *Well, that much was true,* Logan thought.  
  
"Okay. Just keep out of trouble," Max admonished, as if she knew what he'd been up to.  
  
"Yes, Mom."  
  
"Well, gotta go. Some one's waiting to use the pay phone. I'll see ya Sunday."  
  
"Yeah, see ya Sunday," Logan said.  
  
Max hung up, leaving Logan to his project once again.  
  
Once again, he opened the first folder, labeled "Transactions, 2019" and perused it. His eyes grew wide as he realized the scope of the operation. The Steelheads in Seattle were just a small part of the organ smuggling business; apparently there were similar operations up and down the West Coast. All of them reported to Lux.  
  
The "Transactions 2020" and "Transactions 2021" folders revealed similar information. The going rate for a healthy heart was half a million dollars, cash. Kidneys and lungs went for a quarter of a million each. Other organs brought lesser amounts. When Logan added up the amounts of the individual transactions, the totals were in the twenty to twenty-five million dollars per year range. *No wonder Lempkin can afford to be so generous with his charitable contributions,* Logan thought grimly.  
  
The Steelheads had steady partners too, it seemed. The list of regular customers comprised dozens of hospitals and clinics in the Orient. Logan suspected that most of them would be appalled if they knew how the organs had been obtained. The whole thing was beginning to resemble an old Boris Karloff horror movie Logan had seen when he was a kid, one based on true events in 19th century Edinburgh, **The Body Snatchers.** He shivered at the memory of a small child hiding under the covers, peeking out every now and then to watch the black and white film with morbid curiosity.  
  
Looking at his watch and realizing how late it was, Logan decided to save the folder labeled "Far East Trading Company" until the next morning. Somehow, he felt that folder was the key that would tie the whole operation to Lempkin and give him enough information for his next Eyes Only hack. He locked the folders in one of his file drawers and closed down the computers.  
  
Back in his bedroom, Logan shed his clothes, and stiff and sore from his adventures in burglary and dirty street fighting, he transferred into bed. He took off his glasses, turned out the light, and was asleep about the time his head hit the pillow. 


	8. Steel Trap, Chapter 8

**Disclaimer: **Dark Angel is owned by Charles Eglee, James Cameron, and Fox. I claim no rights to these characters, alas, although I like to play with them.

**Episode Reference:  **Takes place immediately after** Some Assembly Required**

**A/N: **This is for Alaidh, who requested another LCMOA fic from me. Thanks to my betas, Alaidh and Kasman, for their insight. 

**I live for reviews. You know what to do.**

**Steel Trap**

**Chapter 8**

Logan awoke the next morning energized over the prospects of completing his Eyes Only mission. However, when he attempted to get out of bed and transfer into the chair, he still felt stiff and sore. He decided that some warm-up exercises and a hot shower were in order to loosen up his muscles; he didn't want to go to Pierpont Lempkin's party later feeling less than his best. 

While he did modified sit-ups and crunches, he mentally composed his next cable hack, which he anticipated airing that afternoon – just in time to ruin Lempkin's evening.  He smiled to himself as he visualized the expression on Lempkin's face, first, when he heard the hack, and second, when his friends and business acquaintances mentioned it at the party. 

Sets of curls seemed to ease the ache in his arms; lateral raises loosened his shoulder muscles; and dumbbell flies seemed to do wonders for his triceps. After about an hour of exercise, he headed into the bathroom for a shower 

As he passed the sink on his way to the shower, he made the mistake of glancing in the mirror, and was horrified at what he saw. Eddie had certainly gotten his shots in, and Logan's face showed several purple bruises on his cheek, as well as a slightly swollen lip, where the Steelhead had connected. _Damn!_ Logan thought, _how am I going to explain these to Bennett? And Max. _

*****

After a quick breakfast, Logan got back to the task at hand. He settled in front of the computer and unlocked the file drawer where he had stashed the files he had stolen from the mortuary. He opened the one he had saved from the previous evening – the one labeled "Far East Trading Company." As he perused it, he was glad that he had saved it, rather than poring through it the night before, because it appeared to contain just the information he was looking for. He retrieved one of the "Transactions" folders and opened it to a random date, then compared the transaction on that date, a payment for a kidney, to one in the new folder. In the "Far East Trading Company" file, there was a similar entry -- a payment to the company less 10 percent, of an identical amount. The notation next to it was KY.

Logan continued to compare files and found similar entries for every transaction. It looked like Eddie and Lux were acting as middlemen for Pierpont Lempkin and taking a cut of the profits. It was right there, in black and white.  

"Bingo!" he crowed to himself. "Gotcha!"

Logan couldn't believe that he'd hit the jackpot. How could they be stupid enough to keep hard copies of everything? On the other hand, he figured the system was clever enough because there were no computer files of transactions that he could find, and few people would have had the patience to ransack the mortuary's files for the information. It was sort of a "Purloined Letter" strategy – hide in plain sight.

He decided to make a copy of everything, then turn all the files over to Matt Sung. That way, even if the Seattle PD did nothing, he still had the goods on Lempkin, and Eyes Only would take him down. It would be a personal pleasure to do the job: Lempkin had eluded him – and justice – for too long.

*****

After Logan had made all the copies, he set up his equipment for the Eyes Only hack.  When he looked into the monitor, the face that looked back at him looked bruised. As far as he was concerned, that would be a dead giveaway – Eyes Only appearing onscreen bruised, and then him showing up later at Lempkin's with a swollen and discolored cheek. _Damn Eddie!_ he said to himself.

He found the streaming video file that he used when he didn't want to do a live hack and copied it to another file. The broadcast began with the familiar invocation, _"This is a Streaming Freedom Video Bulletin. The cable hack will last exactly sixty seconds. It cannot be traced, it cannot be stopped, and it is the only free voice left in this city.  As it rolled, Logan inserted the photos of Pierpont Lempkin under the Eyes Only banner. Once again, he turned on the mic. He settled himself, cleared his throat, and began the hack.  _This is Pierpont Lempkin," _he said as a photo of Lempkin streamed across the screen. __"Successful businessman, entrepreneur, philanthropist— Pierpont Lempkin is socially prominent, hosting several charity events a year, including one tonight."_

More photos streamed by, Lempkin at one of his factories, at his home in formal clothing, presenting a check to the head of a local charity._ "But not all of his ventures are so high-minded. Eyes Only has traced an organ-smuggling operation, based here in __Seattle_, to Pierpont Lempkin. Organs that should be used for transplants here in the ___United States__ are being sold to the highest bidder, usually a clinic in __China__ that has ties to Lempkin. The organs are brought here to _Seattle___, and middlemen complete the transactions. These middlemen turn the money over to Lempkin, after taking a percentage. _

_"Eyes Only has proof of these transactions. Pierpont Lempkin, for all his wealth and power, is a common thief and murderer, robbing the citizenry of much needed organs for transplants and causing many needless deaths.  He will pay for his crimes like the base criminal he is. This has been a Streaming Freedom Video Bulletin via the Eyes Only informant net. Peace. Out." _

Logan leaned back in the chair and smiled. As soon as the satellite was in the proper position, he would send the hack. He checked the satellite feed times and found that the best time to uplink was shortly after 4 PM. _Good_, he thought. _That gives me plenty of time to run my errands and still spoil Lempkin's day._

His work done for the time being, Logan grabbed his jacket and keys, and headed out the door to pick up his tux from the cleaners, and shop for some food for dinner the next day. He knew Max would be hungry. They had hit upon a solution of sorts to the virus problem, at least as far as meals were concerned. Logan kept an old set of plates, glasses, and silverware, left over from his marriage to Valerie, in a separate cabinet for Max to use. She placed all the used dishes in the dishwasher after a meal, and washed them separately at the highest temperature the washer could achieve.  Then, wearing gloves, she put them away after washing. It was a pain in the ass, but it worked, so Max was back, sharing dinner with him. It was like old times. Almost.

*****

It was just after 3 PM when Logan returned from his errands. He put away a couple of bags of groceries, thankful that he had hit the market at a good time, when there were plentiful supplies of vegetables and fresh meat. He went back down to the car, got the dry cleaning, and carefully hung up the tux in the closet. Then he impatiently waited for 4 PM.

He got the equipment all set up, turned on the small television that sat on top of the wine rack, and went over the hack once more to make sure he had said everything he wanted to say. Then he checked his watch again. It was time. Logan hacked into the satellite feed just after 4 PM. He uplinked the Eyes Only bulletin and hit ENTER.  After a momentary hesitation, a message flashed, indicating that the uplink had succeeded.  "Yes!" Logan hissed triumphantly.

He quickly wheeled into the dining room to see the bulletin. There was a college football game on the channel on which he had the television set. The halftime show was about to begin when the picture dissolved into the familiar red, white, and blue Eyes Only logo, and a disembodied, electronically distorted voice said, "_This is a Steaming Freedom Video Bulletin…"_

Logan watched with a smile as his latest handiwork flashed across the screen. When the hack was over, he phoned Matt Sung. When the detective answered, Logan could hear a television set in the background, indicating that Matt must have seen the hack.

"Hey, Matt. It's Logan."

"Yeah, Logan. Did you just see the latest Eyes Only bulletin?" Matt asked.

"Yes, that's why I'm calling you. I have the files on Pierpont Lempkin. Do you want to meet somewhere?"

"Sure. When and where?"

"Can you get away for a few minutes now? I'd like to get these to the Seattle PD as soon as possible."

"I've got a dinner break in 30 minutes. How about then? I can meet you at the park in Sector 4."

"Sounds good, Matt. I'll see you in 30." Logan hung up. He gathered the files, made sure he had copies of everything, and put them into a zippered portfolio, which he slipped into the backpack on the wheelchair. Then he grabbed his jacket, which he had flung over one of the dining room chairs, pocketed his keys, and left the penthouse.

*****

Matt Sung paced restlessly in front of the grandstand in the park. Behind him, a few teenagers listlessly threw a battered football back and forth. Matt rubbed his ungloved hands together for warmth, for there was a damp chill in the air. His expression changed from one of impatience to one of elation when he spotted Logan wheeling toward him. 

"Hey, Logan, I was about to give up on you." 

Logan looked at his watch. "Sorry, Matt. Overzealous sector cop. Decided that I was smuggling wheelchairs or something and went over the car with a magnifying glass." 

"Yeah, well, sector police aren't picked for their smarts, just their enthusiasm for the job." Matt took in Logan's bruised face with a glance, and his eyes widened. "What happened to your face, Logan? You look like someone worked you over."

Logan thought quickly. "Took a fall the other day. Introduced my face to the coffee table."

"Haven't seen you sitting down for a while, either." He indicated the wheelchair with a hand gesture.

"The exoskeleton's in the shop for repairs," Logan replied. "It shorted out the other day – when I was wearing it. That's when I took the fall. Good thing I've got back-up." He touched the wheel rims for emphasis.

"So, what have you got for me?"

"Documentation on the local Steelhead organ smuggling ring that ties it directly to Pierpont Lempkin." 

Logan reached into the pocket of the backpack and pulled out the portfolio and handed it to the detective. Matt unzipped the portfolio, pulled out the folders, and thumbed through one. He whistled. "Wow! How'd you get this?" he asked.

Logan laughed. "Believe me, Matt, you don't want to know. But it's all there in black and white. Files detailing the transactions; files showing payments to one of Lempkin's companies each time there was a transaction; dates, details. The police could have a field day with this."

"Well, let's hope they want to break up the ring and take out the top guy," Matt said. "We've been trying to stop the organ smuggling for years, but I'm not sure how this is gonna play at the top when I show the chief that one of Seattle's most prominent citizens is behind it all."

"If Seattle's finest don't want to take out the top guy, I'm sure that Eyes Only will be happy to oblige..." Logan looked up at Matt Sung.

Matt glanced knowingly at Logan. "I'm sure he would. But it would be a feather in the chief's cap if the PD actually got a major bad guy. I'll see what I can do. Now that Eyes Only's busted Lempkin publicly, it would sure be embarrassing if the police didn't follow up." Matt put the folders back in the portfolio and zipped it.

"Yeah, it would be. So, you don't think the chief is in Lempkin's pocket?"

"No, I don't, but we'll soon find out, won't we?" Matt checked his watch. "Gotta go. Thanks, Logan – and tell Eyes Only thanks for the information. I'll do my best to see it doesn't go to waste."

"I know you will, Matt. I'll catch ya later." Logan turned the chair around and headed back the way he had come. Matt Sung walked in the opposite direction toward his car. The kids on the field continued to throw passes.

*****

When Logan got back to the penthouse, he had barely an hour before Bennett arrived. He quickly stripped off his clothes and rolled into the shower. More of his muscle aches dissolved under the beating of the hot water. He towel-dried his hair, brushed his teeth, and headed for the bedroom to get dressed.  

He was wrestling with his bow tie when the bell rang. Glad for the distraction, Logan wheeled to the door and opened it. Bennett stood in the doorway, a big grin on his face. Then the grin slipped off and a horrified look replaced it.

"My God, Logan, what happened to you?" Bennett said with concern in his voice, looking down at Logan.

Logan had momentarily forgotten about the cuts and bruises he had incurred the previous night. Now he had to come up with a story – fast. Bennett didn't know about the exoskeleton, so the one he had told Matt Sung wouldn't work.

"Ah, basketball game got a little rough yesterday. I got dumped on my face," he lied, backing up to let Bennett enter.

"Geez, Logan. You guys play hard."

"Yeah, wheelchair basketball is not for pansies," Logan replied, laughing. "Come on in. I'm almost ready. Just trying to get this damn tie straight." He wheeled ahead of Bennett. "Make yourself comfortable. 

"Knowing you, I thought maybe some jealous husband or boyfriend beat you up for poaching on his territory," Bennett said. Haven't had that problem lately," Logan replied with a wry laugh.

"Why, your poaching days are over because of your accident, or you've found yourself a girl?"

"The latter, sort of." 

"Anyone I know?" Bennett raised an eyebrow.

"Um, Max, the girl I brought to your wedding. We're still…together."

"Logan, you dog. Ready to go?" 

"Let me get my topcoat, then we can be off." Logan went back into his bedroom briefly, then returned with the topcoat across his knees. "All set."

They took the elevator down to the garage, where the Aztek was parked. Bennett took one look at it – the bullet holes across the side, the shot-out back window – and freaked.

"Logan, do I want to know what happened to your car?"

"Probably not.  Um, somebody shot it up last week as I was driving home...a random shooting." 

"Well, we can't take _that to Lempkin's party," Bennett declared._

"Why not?"

"Coz it looks like hell and every fancy society type will be there."

"As if I care about fancy society types," Logan said, wheeling toward the Aztek. He clicked the button on his keychain and unlocked the doors.

"You'll have to explain all night what happened. That'll be a pain in the ass. And people will be suspicious."

"Yeah, ya got a point there," Logan admitted. 

"Let's take _my car."_

"I can't drive _your car," Logan said. "It doesn't have hand controls."_

"Why would you need to drive _my car?" Bennett asked._

"Well, somebody's got to drive you home when you get sloshed..."

"Logan, I don't _get_ sloshed."

"Every time _I've been out with you, you've gotten sloshed..."_

"Right. And the last time was my bachelor party, when _everybody, including _you_, got sloshed," Bennett said. "I don't drink like my dad did. Nobody will have to drive _me_ home." Bennett headed back toward the elevator. Logan locked the car doors again and followed him._

"Okay. We'll take your car – as long as it's not a sports car," Logan conceded.

"It's a respectable sedan. You shouldn't have any trouble getting in and out of it."

"Oh, God, respectable!" Logan sighed heavily so Bennett could hear him. "How low have I fallen?"

Bennett playfully swatted Logan on the back of the head. "Shut up. Let's go get my car.

They took the elevator back to the lobby, then went out the front door. Bennett had parked the Mercedes sedan in front of the building. He unlocked all the doors and opened the back door. Logan transferred into the passenger seat and took the wheels off the wheelchair. Bennett carefully stowed it in the back behind Logan. The he got into the car and they took off. 

While Bennett chattered away, Logan sat in near silence. He was thinking about the confrontation with Pierpont Lempkin. He was looking forward to it.  
  


* * *


	9. Steel Trap, Chapter 9

**Disclaimer: **Dark Angel is owned by Charles Eglee, James Cameron, and Fox. I claim no rights to these characters, alas, although I like to play with them.

**Episode Reference:  **Takes place immediately after** Some Assembly Required **

**A/N: **This is for Alaidh, who requested another LCMOA fic from me. Thanks to my betas, Alaidh and Kasman, for their insight. 

**I live for reviews. You know what to do.**

**Steel Trap**

**Chapter 9**

Bennett chattered cheerfully as he drove along the rutted highway toward Pierpont Lemkin's estate. Logan vaguely listened to him and nodded every now and then, feigning interest. He was lost in thought about coming face-to-face with his long-time adversary. As Eyes Only, he had been trying to get the goods on the guy for years, knowing that Lemkin was involved in some of the sleaziest dealings in Seattle and the West Coast, including weapons smuggling and now, organ brokering. Lemkin had eluded him too many times by building in layers of responsibility that had been nearly impossible to crack.

And now, finally, Eyes Only was going to get him. Logan almost licked his chops in anticipation. As long as Matt Sung was right, and the chief of the Seattle PD wasn't in Lemkin's pocket, he would let the cops handle it. He had started the ball rolling with his broadcast. It was in the Seattle PD's court now. He hoped they were up to the job…

"…so, when are Marianne and I gonna have you over for dinner?" Bennett was saying. Logan, startled, started in his seat. He felt a guilty pleasure in taking Lemkin down.

"What?"

"When are we gonna have you over for dinner? Marianne will be back Tuesday. What about next weekend?" 

"Uh, I'll have to check my calendar. I'll call you."

"Fine. By the way, what the hell happened to your car – all the bullet holes, I mean. You said it was a drive-by shooting? Were _you _okay?"

"Yeah, it must have been a drive-by. I had the car parked outside the building for a few hours last week. When I came out to drive it into the garage, I found it like that," Logan explained disingenuously, hoping that Bennett wouldn't figure out that the bullet holes would have been on the _opposite side of the car if it had occurred as he said it did._

"Jeez, ever since Beltran's administration, the lawlessness in this city has been getting out of hand. Thank goodness for that guy, Eyes Only. He seems to be the only one concerned with keeping law and order," Bennett declared.

"Yeah, seems that way," Logan replied, noncommittally.

"Did you see the latest Eyes Only hack?" Bennett asked. "It interrupted the football game."

"Afraid not. I was out running errands."

"It was about Pierpont Lemkin. About him being connected to an organ smuggling ring. Can you imagine that? This should be an interesting party."

Logan nodded silently.

*****

Twenty minutes later, they arrived at Lemkin's sprawling estate. The guard at the gatehouse took their names, checked them against a list on his PDA, then electronically opened the huge, ornate cast-iron gate. "Enjoy yourselves, gentlemen," he said as he waved them through.

As they wended their way up the driveway, they could see that the party had already started. The white, columned, Georgian-style mansion was awash with lights; it glowed in the autumn evening like a pearl. Big Band music was issuing from it. Other cars were lined up in front of the house, keeping the uniformed valet staff hopping. Bennett waited his turn in line. 

After a few minutes, he pulled up to the valet, who efficiently and courteously opened his door. A second one, also efficient and courteous, opened the passenger door for Logan, who looked up at him and said, "Thanks. Give me a minute."

Bennett came around to the passenger side and took Logan's wheelchair from the back. Logan quickly assembled it and slid into it. "Thanks," he said to both Bennett and the valet. The uniformed young man nodded and drove the Mercedes away to park it.

"Well, this is some spread," Logan said, spinning the chair around and staring at the house. He had seen pictures of it, and had studied the layout of it when Max had attempted to burgle Lemkin's safe earlier that year, but he had never been to the place in person.

"Yeah," Bennett agreed. "The mind boggles. Makes Dad's old place look like a bungalow."

"Nah, I don't think so," Logan replied. "Jonas' house was pretty big. You lived there longer than I did, so you got used to the size. "

They made their way toward the front entrance, trying to avoid the crowd; Logan hated crowds and being jostled. As they reached the front porch, Logan was surprised to see that a ramp had been laid down, allowing him to proceed to the front door without assistance. He frowned, puzzled, and looked up at Bennett.

"Um, I told him you were coming and asked about accessibility," Bennett admitted sheepishly.

"Thanks, Bennett. I appreciate it." Logan smiled, realizing why Bennett was the only relative he gave a damn about. He wheeled up the ramp and into the house. 

The foyer was spacious, with a marble floor and elegant 18th century furniture. Another uniformed lackey took their coats and directed them to the main room, where most of the activities were occurring. They made their way slowly toward what was laughably called the living room, but which had the nouveau-riche grandeur of a grand salon, dodging elbows and knees. Arriving at their destination, Bennett found a seat on the end of a huge sofa, while Logan pulled up next to him and locked his brakes. A few minutes later, a server with a tray full of sparkling champagne flutes stopped in front of them and offered them drinks. They each took a glass. 

"Well, this is quite a do," Bennett commented.

"Yeah," Logan replied absentmindedly, looking around for Lemkin. "I don't see our host anywhere, do you?"

Bennett craned his neck and surveyed the place. "Nope, I don't either. I imagine that after that Eyes Only broadcast this afternoon, he's off putting the spin on things."

"I don't think he can spin that fast," Logan laughed grimly.

"Probably not" Bennett agreed. "Ah, do you want anything from the buffet?" 

"Yeah, I could stand a bit of food. I didn't have time to eat dinner," Logan replied.

"Okay. Anything in particular? Anything you won't eat? Like vegetables?"

"Nah, I'll eat pretty much anything that won't eat me first."

Bennett grinned. "Great. Stay put and I'll get you something."

Logan started to protest, but realized that as crowded as the place was, he was better off letting Bennett negotiate the way to the buffet. He shrugged and leaned back in the chair, taking in the atmosphere and listening to the conversations. Like the foyer, this room was elegantly furnished with antiques. It was enormous by living room standards, and too rococo for Logan's taste. The walls were hung with expensive, but second-rate 18th century art, mostly hunting scenes. The word that came to Logan's mind was "pretentious."

The room was becoming more crowded as people continued to arrive. Logan, never one for crowds even before he had to negotiate them from a sitting position, began to feel claustrophobic. He considered heading for the French doors and grabbing a breath of air when he saw Bennett returning with a couple of plates of food.

"Whew! What a crush! I didn't know there were still this many wealthy people in Seattle! Here," he said, handing a plate to Logan. He dug into his jacket pocket and pulled out utensils and a napkin. "Good thing you didn't go over there. Who knows how many toes you would have had to roll over."

"Well, I've always been good at treading on toes."

"Yeah, don't I know it. Especially Dad's." 

They ate the buffet offerings and snagged another couple of drinks. Every now and then, a business acquaintance of Bennett's would stroll by and greet him, usually giving Logan a superficial greeting, then ignoring him in favor of Bennett. Normally, Logan found this behavior rude and annoying; tonight, however, he felt freed from the constraints of polite conversation, and therefore able to concentrate on listening and watching for his host.

Logan's vigil was finally rewarded. Pierpont Lemkin strode into the living room, accompanied by a hush, and then whispers. His boyish but hard features conveyed an air of disdain, as if he were above all the gossip he knew was following him. A pair of no-neck goons escorted him – bodyguards, evidently. Logan recognized one of the thugs from Sketchy's photographs. Lemkin pasted a feral smile on his face and proceeded to grip and grin his way through the room. 

After what seemed an eternity, but was probably only a few minutes, Lemkin stood before Bennett and Logan, proffering his hand. Bennett carefully put down his plate, stood up, and shook the outstretched hand. He introduced himself, never having met Lemkin personally.

"Ah, yes, Mr. Cale. Nice to meet you" Lemkin shifted his gaze downward and looked at Logan, again offering his hand. "And you must be the other Mr. Cale. Pierpont Lemkin."

"Logan. Nice to meet you. Thanks for the ramp outside."

Lemkin shook his head. "My pleasure, Mr. Cale. If you spend the big bucks to attend one of my little charity functions, I do my best to accommodate you in any way I can."

"Well, I appreciate it," Logan replied, inwardly gritting his teeth and wanting to wash his hand. 

Lemkin's already predatory smile widened. "Enjoy yourself." Then he walked away.

"Hmm, better count your fingers," Bennett said with a grin. "That one's slick."

"No kidding. Guess I don't need to oil my wheels tonight," Logan replied, turning back to the plate of food on his lap.

When they had finished eating, Bennett suggested an exploratory jaunt around the mansion. "Let's get out of here and see if it's less crowded elsewhere."

"Good idea." Logan placed his empty plate and champagne glass on a side table and unlocked his brakes. 

They left the living room and headed into the hallway. Avoiding the dining room, which was still teeming with people feeding their faces, they crossed the hall and went into what would have been considered a drawing room. There were fewer people here, and the conversation seemed less desultory. Logan overheard several couples engaged in a conversation about art. They seemed to share his opinion of Lemkin's collection. Logan recognized one or two of them from art exhibits he had attended in the past. 

"My God, Logan! I haven't seen you in ages!" One of the women, a well put-together redhead a few years older than Logan, had turned around and seen him. She tried not to stare. "What….?"

"Car accident," Logan lied, giving Bennett the hairy eyeball to keep him quiet.

"I knew sooner or later you would do something crazy in that Audi. When…?

"About a year and a half ago."

"Well, no wonder we haven't seen you at the Arts Council. How are you doing?"  Her expression conveyed concern, but not pity. 

"Okay, I guess," Logan replied tersely. "So, what do you think of Lemkin's collection?" he asked, steering the conversation in another direction.

She smiled. "In my opinion, it's second-rate. He's collecting genre paintings and doesn't know his stuff."

"Yes, I agree," Logan said. Bennett tapped him on the shoulder.

"I'm off for a refill. Can I get you anything?"

"Sure. A single malt. Thanks." Bennett walked off to find the bar, leaving Logan and his Arts Council colleague to discuss Lemkin's collection.

When Bennett returned, drinks in hand, the redhead had left and Logan was rocking his chair from side to side, looking bored. He eagerly accepted the Scotch and took a gulp.

"Anything interesting going on where you were?"

"Not much. Overheard some gossip about our host. Seems like that Eyes Only broadcast has really got some people thinking. There might be a police investigation starting up… Lemkin may be involved in other dicey operations like money laundering, drugs…stuff like that."

Logan grinned. "Couldn't happen to a nicer guy. Lemkin's a sleaze any way you cut it. It's only a matter of time before he takes a fall." He unlocked his brakes and put the highball glass between his knees.  "Come on, Bennett, I want to hear that band. They're good." 

They headed to the ballroom, where a small band was playing jazz. Some couples were slow-dancing, while others, seated at small round tables, watched them or swayed in time with the music. It was a much more lively scene than in the other rooms. These people seemed to be enjoying themselves. 

  
"Ah, this is better," Logan said, heading for a half-empty table. He rolled up to the table and said, "Mind if we join you?" to the people already occupying part of it. They shook their heads, so Logan pulled up to the table and pushed one of the chairs out of the way. He locked his brakes and put the glass of Scotch on the table. Bennett moved the chair farther away, then sat down next to Logan.

"You always did like being around the music," Bennett commented. 

"Yeah. Wish I could still dance, though." 

They sat at the table, listening to the music and watching the dancing. A while later, Pierpont Lemkin came into the room, schmoozed his way to the front, and grabbed a dance partner. The other couples cleared a space and he led the woman onto the floor. The band struck up a lively dance tune.

After a few minutes, Logan commented, "Knew I didn't like the guy. He's even a lousy dancer."

Bennett snickered. "I guess he didn't spend any of his ill-gotten gains on dance lessons. These _nouveau riche _types just don't know how to play the game."  They both enjoyed a laugh at Lemkin's expense.  It was apparent that their host was trying his damnedest to ignore the Eyes Only hack and its aftermath; he kept a smile pasted on his face and a drink nearby. He was artificially cheerful, shaking hands with everyone, slapping the men on the back, complimenting the ladies. It was almost painful to watch. Logan was grimly fascinated.

*****

An hour passed; Pierpont Lemkin left the ballroom. The band took a break. People strolled away to refill their plates and drinks. It seemed like a good time for a quick trip to the patio for a breath of air. Logan backed away from the table. 

Bennett stood up, a bit unsteady. "I'm gonna look for the little boy's room," he said. "Will you be okay for a while?"

"I think I can stay out of trouble," Logan replied, heading for the French doors to the patio.

Bennett shuffled away, looking for one of the uniformed hired help to get directions.

Logan wheeled over to the patio doors and opened one. He rolled outside onto the mostly deserted patio, thankful for the lack of crowds. Breathing deeply, he stared up at the clear, starry night. The night air was crisp, but not especially cold. There was a hint of frost, however, that would make coats a requisite later on. 

Logan thought about the events of the day. Step One of his plan had taken place: the Eyes Only hack to alert the public to Lemkin's nefarious dealings. Step Two had been to turn the files over to Matt Sung. He hoped that the Seattle PD would provide Step Three, the arrest of Pierpont Lemkin. And he hoped it would be soon.

He was so lost in thought that he didn't see the bizarre couple that approached him. Lux in a cloth-of-silver gown that resembled aluminum foil and British Eddie in a gleaming tuxedo of the same fabric, walked up behind Logan. 

"Well, well, look who it is," Lux purred, eyeing Loan approvingly.

"Yes, imagine meeting you here," Eddie said, rubbing his swollen jaw. His eyes narrowed in the darkness. "What _are you doing here, anyway?_

* * *


	10. Steel Trap, Chapter 10

Steel Trap  
  
Chapter Ten  
  
Logan spun around to face them. Squinting into the darkness at the Steelheads, he could barely make out the bruises on Eddie's face, or the cut lip. He wondered if Eddie had told Lux that he got smacked down by a guy in a wheelchair; somehow, he doubted it.  
  
"I'm a guest here, same as you, I assume," he replied. Smiling, he asked brightly, "Enjoying the party?"  
  
A momentary scowl passed over Lux's face. "We just got here. Pierpont didn't want us to arrive too -early."  
  
Logan thought to himself, I can understand that. Wouldn't look too good for this affair if your little sister, the Steelhead, showed up. Might put the high rollers right off their feed.  
  
The three of them headed toward the French doors and stopped just short of them. There was more light shining through the glass, so that it was almost as bright outside as it was inside.  
  
Logan smiled, wondering if Lux - or Eddie - noticed the bruises on his face. "Too early and you miss all the excitement, or what passes for it here, anyway."  
  
Lux eyed him up and down, just as she had that day in the market. Once again, she smiled approvingly.  
  
"You clean up nice," she commented. Logan cringed, remembering the same remark coming from Max the day of Bennett's wedding. It felt almost like Lux was vibrating. He heard a hum coming from her that was similar to the one the exoskeleton made when he switched it on. It was certainly disconcerting.  
  
"Thanks. I try. Wouldn't do to show up at this soirée all decked out in sweats now, would it?"  
  
"You look good in sweats, too," Lux replied. Eddie shot her a dirty look. "As a matter of fact, I'll bet you'd look good in almost anything - or nothing."  
  
Logan hoped he had the grace to blush. As he was trying to think up a witty reply, he saw Bennett heading toward him, a tumbler of single malt in his hand. Logan waved at him, and Bennett stepped into the doorway.  
  
"Who're your friends, Logan?" he asked politely, obviously curious as to why his cousin would be talking to such an outrageous-looking couple. He looked at Eddie, taking in the battered face, then back at Logan, as if he were trying to make the connection in his mind. Logan could almost see the gears in his mind turning.  
  
"Ah," Logan stammered. "This is Lux and this is Eddie. My cousin, Bennett."  
  
Bennett eyed them suspiciously. He hesitated for a second or two, then held out his hand to them. Lux shook it first. "We met your cousin through a business transaction," she said sweetly. Eddie sullenly took Bennett's hand. "Yeah, business."  
  
"Nice to meet you both. Um, Logan, hate to drag you away, but the band has started up again."  
  
"Thanks." Logan spun the chair around and followed Bennett into the room.  
  
*****  
  
They spent an hour or so listening to the jazz band. Even though Logan regretted that Bennett had witnessed his encounter with the Steelheads, he was thankful that his cousin had rescued him from an awkward situation. He was also thankful that Lux had chosen to show some discretion when she met Bennett. He wanted to reveal to Bennett as little as possible about his dealings with the Steelheads.  
  
Bennett excused himself to find a restroom shortly after the band took another break. Logan leaned back in his chair, sipping a Scotch and feeling mellow. He had the feeling that everything was coming to a head this evening. The fact that Lux and Eddie had shown up at Lemkin's was significant; he figured they didn't darken the doorstep of the family mansion too often. They must have heard his broadcast and they were scared. Logan wished he were a fly on the wall when they finally met up with Pierpont Lemkin.  
  
*****  
  
Bennett returned to the ballroom, an eager expression on his face.  
  
"Logan, you ready to blow this Popsicle stand?" he asked unexpectedly.  
  
Logan straightened up. "Yeah, I guess. What's up?"  
  
"Ah, I'll tell you in the car. Let's get out of here."  
  
Logan threw back the rest of his drink, then unlocked his brakes. He followed Bennett to the coatroom, where they retrieved their coats. Bennett handed his ticket to the parking valet at the front door. In a few minutes, his car was brought up to the door. Bennett ran down the steps, while Logan navigated the ramp.  
  
The valet held the door for Bennett, then opened the passenger's side door for Logan. Logan transferred into the seat, popped the wheels and seat off the chair, and stashed it behind the seat. As the valet closed the door, Logan rolled down the window and handed him a generous tip.  
  
Once they got past the gates of the Lemkin estate, Logan turned toward Bennett. "Now, what's got you all spun, Bennett?"  
  
"Well, as I was coming back from the can, I overheard an interesting conversation."  
  
"Okay, spill. You look like the cat who swallowed the canary."  
  
"I was walking past Lemkin's study. The door was slightly open..."  
  
"So, you decided to eavesdrop a bit?" Logan hinted.  
  
"I couldn't help it. The voices were pretty loud. Anyway, Lemkin said, 'Hey, sis. Glad you could make it.'"  
  
"So?" Logan said, almost panting to hear the conversation.  
  
"It turns out that the sister he was talking to was that Steelhead woman you introduced me to!" Bennett exclaimed. "She said, 'Well, Pierpont, you can't keep me locked away in that damn funeral parlor all the time.' It sounded like she was not a happy camper. It also sounded like Lemkin didn't invite her to the party - that she just showed up. Our host sure sounded annoyed that she was there." Bennett chuckled, obviously enjoying Lemkin's discomfort.  
  
"Interesting," Logan remarked, trying to stay noncommittal.  
  
"Then she said, 'Brother, we have to talk. Eddie got beaten up last night and it looks like someone got into the files.' Lemkin asked if any were missing, but it seems that she hadn't found any. Do you have any idea what that's all about, Logan?"  
  
"Um, no. Why should I?" Logan replied. "Can you crank up the heat?"  
  
Bennett turned the heat up a bit. "Well, Logan, I've just been trying to put the pieces together. First of all, you actually wanted to go to this party - which is so unlike you. Next, your face is all bruised -"  
  
"I told you, I got tipped over in a basketball game."  
  
"Right. And finally, you seem to know these Steelheads, one of whom is all bruised too. So I wondered what you've been up to."  
  
"Bennett, if I told you, I'd have to kill you," Logan joked.  
  
"Logan, did you know that Lux was Lemkin's sister?"  
  
"I plead the Fifth."  
  
"Did you know the Steelheads were gonna be here tonight?"  
  
"No, not a clue."  
  
"Come on, Logan, you can tell me! Does it have anything to do with that Eyes Only broadcast this afternoon?"  
  
"Couldn't say."  
  
"Dammit, Logan! When will you trust me enough to let me know what's going on?" Bennett was practically shouting. He swerved to avoid a squirrel, throwing Logan against the window.  
  
"Bennett, it's not a matter of trust. It's a matter of safety," Logan stated firmly as he straightened up.  
  
"Yeah, yeah. What you do is dangerous. I know. But..."  
  
"No buts, Bennett. You know what happened to me. I don't want anything like that to happen to you. I'd hate to have to answer to Marianne if you got hurt - or worse. She'd kill me. It's best that you don't know."  
  
"Okay, I'll drop it."  
  
"Do me one favor. When you get home, write down what you told me - the conversation between Lemkin and his sister. Just in case. And keep your head down. Things may happen quickly."  
  
"One of these days, you'll let me in, Logan. I know you will."  
  
They drove the rest of the way in silence. Logan turned on the radio, tuning it to a classical station. When they arrived back at Logan's apartment building, Bennett pulled into the garage and parked next to the Aztek. He fetched the wheelchair from the back seat and watched as Logan assembled it.  
  
"Hey, Logan, it was fun. We should do it again soon," he joked as Logan transferred to the chair.  
  
"Yeah, we should," Logan said. He put out his hand to shake Bennett's. "Thanks."  
  
Bennett gripped Logan's hand. "You want me to come up?"  
  
"And what? Tuck me in? Kiss me goodnight? I'll be fine, Bennett. Honestly, I will."  
  
"I know. I just..."  
  
"It's okay, Bennett. I'll catch you later. 'Night."  
  
"'Night, Logan." Bennett got back into the Mercedes and drove off, while Logan headed toward the elevator to the penthouse.  
  
A sleek black car pulled up alongside him. Logan paid little attention to it, until it was too late. The next thing he knew, a goon who looked like he threw trucks for a living stepped in front of him, blocking the way.  
  
"Mr. Lemkin is in the car. He wants to see you," he said. 


	11. Steel Trap, Chapter 11

**Steel Trap**

**Chapter 11**

Logan, his brain foggy from too many single malts, realized that unless he could talk his way out of it, he was going to get his ass handed to him. He looked up at Lemkin's goon and with the appearance of more courage than he could muster, he said, "Tell Mr. Lemkin to call me and make an appointment. It's a bit late for business conferences." Logan's tongue felt fuzzy, like his brain. He attempted to wheel past the goon.

But the goon planted his feet and put a hand out to stop Logan. "I'm afraid you don't understand. Mr. Lemkin wants to see you _now_."

"Ah, I see." Logan was deliberately dense.

The goon attempted to take control of Logan's wheelchair, but since it had no handles, he wasn't sure what to do. So he put his hands on the back of Logan's chair and roughly pushed him toward the limousine.

As Logan was being taken to Lemkin, he looked around the garage – for what, he wasn't sure – maybe an escape route, anything to get him out of his predicament. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed what looked like Max's Ninja parked near his Aztek. He shook his head to clear it, figuring that he was hallucinating, or suffering the effects of too much Glenmorangie. But no, there it was. Max was around somewhere, then, but where? _I sure could use her talents now_, he thought.

The goon, being preoccupied with pushing him, didn't notice Logan surreptitiously reach into his pocket and turn on his cell phone. He punched the speed dial code for Max and hoped she'd pick up before the goon heard it ringing.

Logan gritted his teeth as the cell phone dialed and rang once. Sure enough, Max picked up quickly. "Logan? Where are you?"

Logan knew he couldn't risk actually pulling out the phone and talking to Max, so he improvised. In a loud voice, he said to Lemkin's goon, "So, is Mr. Lemkin in the habit of meeting business contacts in garages late at night?"

The goon cuffed him on the side of the head. "Shut up!"

"Ow!" Logan yelped. _Okay, maybe the guy would think he was a wuss, but he wanted Max to hear him. He hoped she'd figure out what was going on._

In too short a time, they were at the limo. The rear window rolled down, slowly revealing an unsmiling Pierpont Lemkin. Next to him sat Lux, and next to her, British Eddie. Another no-neck goon occupied the driver's seat.

_Max, where are you?_ Logan thought. Aloud, he said, "Lemkin. What can I do for you?"

Lemkin turned toward Lux and Eddie. Lux leaned forward, and Logan was sure that she winked at him. But Eddie whined, "That's him. That's the bloke."

Lemkin turned back to face Logan. "My trusted employee here says you're the one who stole my files and leaked them to Eyes Only." Lemkin's eyes glittered, like those of a feral creature ready to pounce.

"Your trusted employee is mistaken. How could I steal your files?" Logan touched his wheel rims. "Eddie, I thought we had already settled this."

"Apparently not," Lemkin commented tersely. At a nod of his head, the goon in the driver's seat got out of the limo and walked around the car to join his companion, standing behind Logan.

Lemkin stepped out of the limo. Logan wondered again where Max was, knowing that unless she showed up quickly, he was toast.

Just then, all hell broke loose as a whirlwind in black leather flew at the goons behind Logan. Max knocked them to the ground. Logan quickly wheeled out of the way, but was stopped in his flight by Lemkin, who stepped in front of him. Lemkin had a gun in his hand and it was aimed directly at Logan's head.

As Max kicked one of the goons who tried to get up, Logan lunged at Lemkin, hitting him at knee level, and knocking him down. The gun flew out of Lemkin's hand, but it was still within grabbing distance. Logan, now on the ground on top of Lemkin, pulled his arm back and delivered a vicious punch to the latter's jaw. Lemkin groaned and tried to throw Logan off. They both spotted the gun and rolled toward it.

"Max!" Logan yelled, unable to see what she was doing.

"I'm busy, Logan!" Max yelled back, delivering yet another head shot to one of the goons, who just would not lie down.

Lemkin and Logan, still locked in combat, were now next to the gun. Lemkin reached for it, but was thwarted by Max, who took time off from beating on the goons to kick it away from him. It slid under the limo. Max turned around just in time to take a nasty hit in the stomach that doubled her over momentarily. She recovered and kicked the goon in the head. He went down like a ton of bricks. The other one was trying to get up, shaking his head to clear it.

"Dammit, will you stay down?!" Max said, as she kicked him in the nose. He fell back, bleeding profusely. Hoping the two goons were down for the count, Max turned around to look for Logan.

There was the sound of a motor revving. Eddie had climbed into the driver's seat of the limo, and was backing it out of the garage. He turned it around and took off, tires and Lux, still in the back seat, squealing.

Logan, momentarily distracted by the departing limo, took his eyes off Lemkin, and was rewarded by a blow to the side of his head that sent his glasses flying. Lemkin finally disentangled himself from Logan's grip and got up. He ran for the gun, left uncovered by the departure of the limo. Max saw him take off and jumped at him, landing with both feet on his shoulder blades. He landed face first on the concrete floor, out cold.

Logan pulled himself up to a sitting position, leaning against a concrete column. "What took you so long?" he asked, grinning.

"Lousy cell phone connection in the elevator," Max replied in a cheeky tone of voice. "You okay?" She resisted the urge to help him up, settling on retrieving the wheelchair and carefully placing it next to him. He locked the brakes and painfully climbed into it. Setting his feet on the footrest, he leaned back. "That's better."

Max bent over and picked up his glasses. "I'm afraid they're broken, Logan," she said as she placed them in his lap, her gloved hand shaking.

"Better them than me," Logan said, shrugging his shoulders. He retrieved his cell phone from his pocket. Satisfied that it hadn't been broken in his struggle with Lemkin, he hit a speed dial number.

"Hey, Matt, sorry to wake you. I've got Lemkin and a couple of his goons laid out here in my garage. Can you send a wagon around to pick them up? They attacked me as I was on my way home from a party." Logan looked around to make sure the three were still unconscious. "Thanks." He turned to Max. "Matt said a police wagon will be here shortly."

"That's good. I was worried that I'd have to keep hitting them to make sure they stayed down." Max smiled. "So, do I want to know what went on here tonight?"

"It's a long story..." Logan began.

"I'll bet it is. Want to tell me about it?"

"Not right now. I'm very tired – it's been a very long day. But come by tonight about 6 pm and I'll cook you dinner and tell you all about it."

"You're on. I want to hear all about _this_."

They waited for the police to arrive. Logan, Lemkin's gun in his hand, guarded the unconscious mogul, while Max made sure that the goons stayed down. Nearly thirty minutes after Logan had phoned Matt Sung, two squad cars pulled into the garage. The police handcuffed two groggy bodyguards and a protesting Lemkin, who kept declaring that it was all a "misunderstanding." Once Lemkin was safely ensconced in the squad car, Logan turned over the gun to the cops.

"Here, you'll need this," he said as he turned it over to one of the officers. "He tried to shoot me. And you might want to pick up a thug named British Eddie, who's driving Mr. Lemkin's car right about now."

The cops drove off, leaving Logan and Max alone in the garage.

"So, catch you later?" Max said, looking at Logan, who visibly sagged in the chair.

"Yeah, dinner, then you can tell me all about Zack and I'll tell you about my week," Logan replied, a tired smile on his face. "Right now, I've gotta get some sleep. Thanks, Max. Your timing was perfect."

"Glad I could help. I'll see you at six then?"

"Yeah. 'Night."

Logan watched Max walk away and get on her motorcycle. As he turned his chair around and headed toward the elevator, he heard the 'vroom' of the engine and the squeal of her tires. He paused and turned back to watch her leave.

* * *

Once back in the penthouse, he undressed, rolled into the bathroom for his nightly ritual, and, suddenly exhausted, transferred onto the bed. He barely had time to lie down and pull the covers over himself before he was asleep.

* * *

Logan awoke the next morning to the telephone ringing. Groggily, he reached for his glasses, then realized he'd broken them the previous night. He grabbed the phone and rummaged in the night stand drawer for his other glasses.

"Hello?" he said.

Sebastian's mechanical voice answered. "Logan, I've got good news. The exoskeleton should be repaired by this evening. You can come by and pick it up any time after 9 pm."

"Great. Thanks." He squinted at the clock and decided it was time to get out of bed. He had promised Max dinner and he had to get started.

* * *

What had started as a quick trip to the market turned into a time-consuming pain as Logan found various streets blocked off by police cordons and sector cops with attitude. He drove around for about thirty minutes trying to find a parking space, at last resigning himself to using the handicapped hangtag he kept in the glove box.

He slid into the parking space and transferred into the chair. He approached one of the barricades, hoping to get into his favorite part of the market, do his shopping, and get out quickly. But the cop prevented him from entering the area.

"What's going on, officer?" he asked.

'We're conducting a search of some buildings around here. Part of an ongoing investigation," the cop said, indicating with his weapon that Logan should move aside.

"What investigation, officer?" Logan asked.

"Did you see that Eyes Only hack yesterday? The one about the organ smuggling ring?"

"Um, yes, I did."

"Well, it's part of that." The cop looked around. "We should be done here in a few minutes."

Logan waited impatiently, tapping his fingers on his thigh. Every so often, he looked at his watch. Finally, after what seemed like an hour, he was waved through. Once quit of the police barricade, he hurriedly shopped, picking up fresh green vegetables, potatoes, and a chicken for dinner. On impulse, he bought a small bouquet of autumn flowers. Then he hastily left the market to head home and prepare dinner for Max.

* * *

Several hours later, the chicken was in the oven, roasting along with the potatoes. Logan intended to steam the vegetables at the last minute, just before dinner. Without the exoskeleton, he couldn't reach the cabinet that contained Max's special dishes and silverware, so the table wasn't quite set. However, he had arranged the bouquet of asters and chrysanthemums in an attractive vase and placed it in the center of the table.

Looking at his watch, Logan noted that it was nearly five. He decided to change into a sweater and dress pants for Max's visit. He had missed her more than he wanted to admit, and he wanted to show her that he had missed her. After checking on the chicken, he headed into the bedroom to change.

Naturally, just as he finished pulling the sweater over his head, the doorbell rang. Hastily, he adjusted it and wheeled to answer the door. As he opened it, he smiled broadly.

Max stood at the door, dressed in black leather, as usual.

"Hey," she said with a smile.

"Hey yourself," Logan replied. "Come on in." He rolled back to let her in. "How's Zack?"

"Other than the fact that he has no clue as to who he is, he's fine," Max answered sadly, but she entered the apartment with deliberation. "Mmm, something sure smells good."

"Dinner's almost ready," Logan explained, following her into the living room. "I was waiting for you to show up so I could put on the vegetables." He wheeled into the kitchen and took them from the refrigerator.

Max looked at the dining room table. "Nice flowers. You eating alone?"

Logan blushed. "Ah, I couldn't reach your dishes..."

"Oh, right. It's still on the fritz?" Max inquired as she headed for the kitchen. She reached up and opened a cabinet and got out her set of dishes and silverware, then placed them on the dining room table. "There. All set." Then she sat down a safe distance away, watching as he peeled, sliced, and steamed.

"Great." Logan grinned. "Sebastian called today. It's fixed. I have to pick it up after nine tonight. So I'll be back on my feet tomorrow."

"Good. I was hoping that Zack hadn't permanently killed it."

"No, that was _me_ he was trying to permanently kill." As soon as Logan said that, he bit his tongue. Max scowled at him. "Sorry. That wasn't funny," he apologized.

"So, how was your week?" Max asked.

"Slow. I did some modified workouts and worked on some Eyes Only stuff."

"Like any of that's news," she commented sarcastically.

The timer went off, indicating that the chicken was done. Logan took the pan out of the oven and placed the roast chicken and potatoes on a serving platter. He emptied the vegetables from the steamer into a large bowl. Then he placed the platter and bowl on a tray on his lap and took the food to the table. Finally, he went back into the kitchen and retrieved a bottle of white wine from the fridge.

Max sat down opposite him and practically licked her chops in anticipation. "Looks and smells wonderful, of course. I missed your cooking," Max admitted.

"Glad to hear that. Always nice to be appreciated," Logan said as he carved the chicken.

"Not a lot of good restaurants out there in the heartland," she responded. "Not much news either."

"Oh?" Logan served Max, then prepared a plate for himself. "Where did you stay?"

"Here and there. No television, though. I feel like I've been living in a vacuum. Mind if I turn on your TV?"

"Not at all. Let me – Just in case." Logan switched on the small TV set on top of the wine rack and tuned it to a news channel.

Max hung her head. "I hate this virus. I hate it more than anything in the world," she said softly.

"I do too, Max. I hate it even more than I hate being in this chair. But we'll beat it. I swear we will."

"I know, Logan, but I still hate it."

"Eat your dinner, Max. You're here and I'm here. And we're both okay."

They resumed their meal while the TV news droned on. Logan looked up quickly when he heard a news flash.

_**This just in. Police have begun an investigation of the organ-smuggling ring uncovered by the underground cyber-journalist, Eyes Only. Several arrests have already been made, including a pair of Steelheads purported to be the middlemen. Police seized records and computers at a mortuary in Sector Four today as part of the investigation. Reports indicate that the investigation may reach into the highest levels of Seattle society. Stay tuned to this station for more developments.**_

Max cocked an eye at Logan. "Slow week, huh?" She smiled. "Must have been an interesting Eyes Only hack you came up with this time."

Logan smiled back. "Yeah, it was."

"That's great. I knew you'd get Lemkin eventually. Now, tell me all about it...."

**THE END**


End file.
